Last Chance
by Purple Eyed Cat
Summary: ON HIATUS Disgraced by her father, Isabel of Wynclyff lives in exile. Betrayed and broken by one too many men, she is adverse and immune to love. Can the honest heart of the one man that doesn't seek her out show her what love is before it's too late?
1. Prologue: Banishment

**A/N: Hello, all, I'm back! I've returned from a very long break of not writing. I had a bit of a writer's slump, and when my muse finally returned, it brought this story with it. This is my first foray into the world of fairy tales, but I've grown up listening to fairy tales in my childhood, so I've decided to take a stab at it. Please enjoy!**

**Summary: Disgraced and exiled by her father, Isabel of Wynclyff lives alone. Betrayed by one too many men, she is adverse and immune to love. Until she meets Alan. Can the honest heart of the one man that doesn't seek her out show her what love is before it's too late? **

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Prologue: Banishment 

Chaos reigned in the southern courtyard of the Castle Eytan. Servants scurried about, carrying parcels and trunks and bags to the waiting carriage that was already teeming with belongings. Adding to the confusion were the chickens, hopping about and narrowly avoiding being kicked on several occasions by the harried servants.

At the center of this human tempest was a fourteen year old girl who was busy fighting back tears—and losing. She glared at her father who was standing dispassionately next to the carriage, holding the door open and occasionally barking out orders to the fearful servants. The girl glimpsed her sour-faced governess and two frightened maids already bundled inside, waiting for her to get in, but she didn't want to leave. It wasn't fair.

A warm cloak enveloped her and a solid arm wrapped around her shoulders. A warm cheek pressed against her wet one, and her sister's voice sounded in her ear. "It isn't forever, Isabel."

"It is!" The girl wailed, clinging to the cloak and her sister, loath to let go. She was convinced that she was being sent away forever, and she would never see her family again. "I'll never see you again." She whimpered, burying her face in her sister's dark hair.

Catrina wiped her sister's tears away, hugged her close and dared to appeal to her stony father.

"Father, Your Grace, please," she called over her sister's soft cries and the servants' bustling. She dared to use his title, hoping to garner some favor, but it was to no avail. Her father turned his scowling gray gaze to her, and she knew it was lost. Isabel clung tighter, her sobs growing louder, and Catrina knew she had to try.

"Won't you let her stay?" She pleaded. "I'll teach her all she needs to know."

This was the wrong thing to say, as her father's eyes grew even colder, and he growled, "You had fourteen years to teach that girl the woman's arts. Between you and your two sisters, you had a chance. You did not take it. Now it is up to me to show this girl what happens when you disobey." He turned his gaze to the loitering men at arms, waiting to depart with the carriage. "Take her."

The men at arms approached the weeping girl, disengaging her from her sister. Both girls were clung to each other, and Catrina pressed a kiss to her sister's forehead. "Be brave," she whispered, and Isabel nodded, tears running down her face and her throat choked with sobs.

As the men at arms lifted her into the carriage, Catrina tried to go to the carriage, to clasp her sister's hand on last time and say goodbye. Restraining hands on her arms made her glance back, her blue eyes glittering with tears.

"Leave her, sister," Beatrice murmured, tugging her sister back towards the Great Hall.

"She is beyond our help now," Diana added, moving with Beatrice to pull her sister backwards. The two noblewomen succeeded in convincing their sister to go back to where the rest of their family waited. Catrina stood silent and fuming next to their four brothers, watching the carriage trundle through the gates. She watched until the carriage was obscured—but whether it was by the dust of the road or the tears in her eyes, she couldn't tell.

Her father stalked into the Great Hall, and as was demanded, the three sisters fell back to allow their father and brothers to proceed ahead of them. Catrina glared at her father's back as it vanished into the gloom of the interior. Banishing their youngest sister was not a crime that she would allow her father to forget, nor would she forgive him for it. The others may go along with it, sheep that they were, but she would not be so easily swayed by her father's honeyed words of persuasion.

Catrina turned back, but the carriage was already a speck of dust in the distance. The tears came again, and she wiped them away hurriedly, knowing that her father saw her mourning her sister, she would be punished.

"Oh, Isabel," she whispered fiercely, "I'm sorry. I tried."

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A/N: Well, that's the beginning of what I hope will be a story I can be proud of. Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 1: The Assignment

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter 1 of Last Chance! This is officially the start of the story, and I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to get this chapter up. Between graduating from high school and some other family things, time seemed to slip away from me, and I didn't have a chance to post this before now. And much to the reader's disappointment, introducing you to the main character will have to wait. This chapter will introduce you to another key player. **

**...Enough with my ramblings. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 1: The Assignment

The capital was dark and it was a soggy night, the kind of night that produces such a deep fog that no one ventures out for fear of getting lost. It was a damp night, a night that clung to every surface in a slimy way, coating everything and making the very air as thick and noxious as a potion.

It was into this dank night that a figure stepped out of a small wooden house somewhere in the labyrinth of the capital's streets and began walking. The tall figure was shrouded in a cloak and did not seem comfortable in the thick fog. He continuously tried to bat the fog away, but it was as thick as soup and he seemed to had no hope but to walk blindly forward.

He seemed to be finding his way by the pattern of the cobblestone streets, for he was studying the stones in front him with care, and anyone watching him would have thought that the fog surrounding him had no effect. He stumbled, however, when a cat darted out in front of him, padding across the cobblestones. The man cursed, and his boot shot out, aiming for the flank of the unfortunate feline. The cat gave an offended hiss and disappeared into the milky fog. Staring after it for a moment, the man shook his hooded head and continued on his way, the fog obligingly swallowing him in a few seconds.

Many silent footfalls later, the dark wall of the king's palace reared so suddenly out of the fog that the man startled. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he paced towards the wall, shivering as the fog coated his bare hands, sliding over them and making him feel as if he had just plunged his hands into a bucket of animal entrails. Resisting the urge to shudder even more, the man felt his way along the stone wall, unnoticed by the unnerved sentries far above him, for this was no natural fog. Chills ran down his spine as he realized that the stone wall, always warm with the kingdom's flow of magic, was cold as stone should be.

Urgency made him pick up his pace, and with an almost audible sigh of relief, he found the door he was meant to find. Painted to look like another building stone, it was only known to those who knew where it was. The man pushed it open, almost falling into the dark stairwell in relief. A warm glow beckoned him to the bottom, and not caring if he tripped, the stranger wound his way down.

* * *

Alan Rial was nervous. His captain had told him to meet him in this room at the hour of the Old Ones, and he was not one to disobey. But his captain was running late, and seeing the unnaturalness of the fog, Alan feared for the worst. Pacing the small stone room, he glanced at the small stairwell that was the only way in from the outside. Down the room he paced: five paces. Across the room he strode: four paces. Around the wooden table he moved: six paces. He watched the torches' light dance on the walls, throwing up soot and sparks, and he chewed his lip and waited.

Footsteps on the stair had him tensed and ready, one hand on the hilt of his sword and crouched to defend himself. When the figure stumbled into the room, cloaked in the unnatural fog and shrouded in a cape, hood drawn up to shadow his face, Alan drew his sword and took his stance, convinced a sorcerer had come to kill him.

The figure raised his hands, and Alan braced himself, waiting for the magic death blow. Instead, the stranger tried to beat off the fog that surrounded him, and Alan watched, confused. This didn't look like any magic he had ever seen. Growling something that sounded like a soldier's curse, the stranger strode over to the one of the sconces in the wall and pulled the torch out. Alan tensed, but the figure paid him no heed, and proceeded to try to burn the fog off his cloak. Alan finally straightened but did not sheath his sword.

The figure turned to face Alan, the brand sputtering in his hand as it tried to combat the fog. "Sheath your weapon, Alan." The voice sounded as it couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused. "Would you really attack a friend?"

Alan did as the man commanded, grinning sheepishly. "Can you blame me, Captain? It was you who taught me to be cautious."

The man threw back his hood and surveyed the other man. "Aye, that I did, but I didn't mean that you should run me through." Giving up on burning off the fog, he shoved the torch back into its sconce with a growl and took off his cloak, leaving it to crumple on the ground. The fog hovered, seeming uncertain until it settled over the cloak, making it appear as it was covered with a layer of shining cobwebs.

Alan eyed the cloak nervously, backing away from it. He didn't like magic any more than the next man, and fog that unnatural was dark magic indeed. His captain didn't care for his attitude, though.

"It's only a piece of cloth, by the Old Ones!" He barked irritably, and under such harsh tones, Alan snapped to attention, his chin up and his eyes fixed solidly on the far wall.

Captain Lath Wolse grinned ruefully. "Come now, Alan." He said softly, the gruffness gone. "You know me better than that."

Alan relaxed and grinned sheepishly at his captain, his brown eyes lighting up and the grin showing the boy he used to be. "You asked me here, Captain?" He asked, walking over to the table to lean against the worn wood, surveying the older man with interest.

Captain Lath nodded. "You felt the stones on the way down here?" He asked, his tone suddenly grim.

Alan's visage matched his own seriousness. "Cold as ice." He shuddered. "It's unnatural. The kingdom isn't meant to be cold. Bad things are coming, the folk say." He fixed his captain and old friend with a keen gaze. "Are they?"

In answer, Captain Lath reached into his tunic and pulled out two letters: one open, the creamy vellum clearly the king's own, dark words spilling from its pages, and the other sealed, marked with the king's personal seal of the sun and moon intertwined.

Alan eyed them nervously; in all his years in the service, he had never been presented with a letter that bore the king's personal seal. The official seal of the kingdom, yes: the moon resting within the sun, but never the king's own seal.

"What's in them, Lath?" He asked shakily, his voice cracking. "War?"

Lath shook his head, running his hand through his blonde hair that was slowly going white, his blue eyes shadowed. "A plea to our allies."

Alan, who had been studying the two letters, raised his head sharply, staring. "A plea?" He repeated, and Lath nodded solemnly. Alan stared at his captain, feeling his heart sink and his blood quicken. They both knew what this assignment meant: the messenger given such a missive was rarely seen alive again.

Lath watched as Alan slowly pieced together what his assignment was. "You want me to take this letter to the Eastern Continent?" Alan breathed, feeling the blood drain from his face, hoping that his old friend would tell him no, that it had been a mistake.

Slowly, Lath nodded. Gesturing to the two letters still on the table, quivering somewhat from the draft that flowed through the room and throwing off their own shadows, he asked, "Will you accept this assignment?"

Against his better judgment, Alan nodded.

Lath sighed, his blue eyes darkening under the shadow of the memory of too many good men lost this way. "The first letter," he explained heavily, his voice flat, "is for you to read." He gestured to the open letter, and Alan picked it up, realizing his hands were shaking.

_Fling the Eastern Gate wide, _it read, _and allow the Eagle to fly to the Sun. The Moon will triumph over the Night, and the Eagle will return to its Nest victorious, forever allowed to roam the Sky and consort with the Sun. _

When Alan looked up, Lath was there, holding a torch. "Memorize it, my boy." His hushed voice echoed in the room, making the stones suddenly seem more oppressive. Alan looked back at the cryptic message, quickly committing it to memory—his talent with remembering things was the reason he was part of this assignment in the first place. He held out to Lath, expecting the older man to take it and thrust it into the flames, but Lath made no move to grab it.

"Keep it." Lath ordered, and puzzled, Alan tucked it away. Lath returned the torch to its sconce, and Alan turned his gaze to the second letter, still bearing its important wax seal.

"This one," Lath told him, returning to the table, "is the true letter. It contains the message you just read, along with the king's true plea. If any spy or robber comes to you and demands the king's letter, give them the one you have read. They won't be able to make head or tail of it."

"But this one," Lath continued, laying his hand on the closed missive, "you must hide on your person and never take it out, even when you sleep. Losing this one would mean the loss of you life and the loss of your country. Do you understand?" His blue eyes held Alan's, and within the younger man's eyes he read that Alan understood what was asked of him.

Clapping a hand on Alan's shoulder, he forced a grin, trying to improve the young man's spirits. "You're a King's Thief, lad. You'll be fine." Alan nodded, but Lath could see something troubled him more than the two letters, the second of which he had tucked away in the folds of his shirt.

"What's wrong, lad?" Lath asked kindly, watching the man he had known since the boy was a gangly adolescent and dreaming of a place in the king's guard. Although Lath was almost approaching his fiftieth year, Alan was younger than he by little over twenty years, and he worried that the other man, while skilled, was too young for such dangerous assignments.

"What am I going to do with Lucas?" Alan asked, his eyes holding a spark of fear as he spoke.

Lath frowned and informed him, "You fret more than a housewife over that boy of yours."

"Do you hold me for it?" Alan asked, concern now plainly written across his face, his dark eyebrows knitting together.

Lath grinned ruefully and shook his head. "How can I grudge you your love for your son if I worry just as much over the fate of my own when I'm away?"

Striding over to his cloak, Lath picked the garment up and shook it out, peering at it curiously. Alan looked it over as well, realizing in shock that the fog had completely dissipated. Both men glanced at each other, their faces once again grim, and Lath drew his hood over his head.

"Remember, Thief Alan," he warned, "your message is of utmost importance. It must reach the Emperor of the Eastern Continent within a fortnight or all is lost. You must leave at once."

Alan blanched, fear racing across his features before he could banish it. "Now?" He asked hoarsely. "Captain, I can't leave now." He could feel Lath's glare from under the shadow of the hood, and he hurried to explain. "Give me one last night with my son," he pleaded. "Don't force me to abandon him in the night like a real thief. He deserves to know I have gone."

Lath nodded shortly, but even through the cloak, Alan could tell the captain wasn't happy about it. "Very well." He replied tersely. "You leave at the cock's first cry, and no later."

Alan nodded and bowed. "Thank you, Captain Wolse." He murmured, and when he straightened, Lath was still watching him.

"You'll do well." He informed Alan sharply, and then abruptly turned and exited up the same stairwell he had entered, the darkness quickly engulfing him.

* * *

Alan trudged up the stairs to his son's room, making every footfall as silent as possible. Each step was a battle; his feet seemed to weigh as much as river stones, and his heart felt just as heavy. Pushing the door to his son's room open, Alan paused in the doorway, comforted by the sound of his son's breathing.

Crossing to the small cot that lay against the wall, Alan tripped and stumbled several times over the various toys that lay strewn about. Cursing silently, Alan realized that the shutters were closed against the fog and the candle that usually kept its lit vigil by his son's bedside had blown out sometime during the night.

Sinking into a cross-legged position on the floor next to his son's woolen cot, Alan reached out and gently lifted the small boy from his bed, cradling him against his chest. Lucas stirred at being pulled from his cocoon of sheets, but immediately nestled into Alan's chest, his thumb planted firmly in his mouth.

Alan stroked his son's hair, which he knew to be lighter than his own, the same color as the boy's mother's tresses. Lucas' breathing was enough to calm his unspoken fears about the assignment he held received only hours before, and he felt his body relax. He stifled a yawn and gently shook his son awake.

"Lucas." He whispered, gently try to rouse his son and not frighten him in the process. "Laddie, wake up."

The six year old boy in his arms stirred more vigorously than before and mumbled something to himself. Alan waited, and then heard the sleepy, whispered word breathed quietly against his chest.

"Papa?"

Dropping his head, Alan kissed his son's forehead, brushing his hair back. "Hello, Lucas." He could feel Lucas staring up at him, and he knew that those green eyes would be sleep-filled and confused.

"Papa?" Lucas asked sleepily. "Do you have to go away again?"

Alan swallowed hard, wishing that his son didn't know this routine so well. Lucas knew that the only reason his father woke him in the middle of the night was because the boy wouldn't see him in the morning.

"Yes," he whispered, trying to keep the lump in his throat out his voice. "I have to go away again."

"How long?" The little boy wanted to know, and again Alan swallowed the lump before he answered.

"A fortnight." He answered, and he could feel the little boy nod against his arms. Alan knew that "a fortnight" meant nothing to the boy in his arms—he didn't truly understand the passage of time.

"Would you like to stay with Marnie again?" He asked, thinking of his fair-haired sister, laughing, gentle, and always ready to spoil her nephew.

Lucas lifted his head up an inch or two off Alan's arm, too sleepy to do anything other than that to signify his consent. He hated when his father had to leave, but Aunt Marnie was better than anyone when it came to giving him treats.

"I'll miss you, Papa." He murmured sleepily, and Alan pulled his little boy closer, blinking back sudden tears and vehemently wishing he hadn't taken the assignment. The little boy drifted off to sleep with a mumbled, "I love you," and Alan sat there for several minutes more, the boy's solid weight a warm talisman against his heart.

Reluctantly, he replaced his boy on the cot, stood up, relit the candle and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Alan slowly made his way downstairs to where his sister waited. She was willing to take over the care of his son while he was gone, but that didn't mean he was eager to leave.

He loitered as much as he could, but soon, dawn began to smudge the edges of the sky, and he knew he couldn't wait anymore.

Alan turned his horse towards the east as the cock's first crow echoed over the streets.

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**A/N: Well, there you have it, the first chapter. What did you think? Reviews are always appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 2: Look to the East

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter 2! I was planning to upload this next week, but as I'm going on a week-long trip starting Sunday, I figured I'd give you all this chapter to tide you over until I return next week. A few days after I return, I will post Chapter 3, I promise. I will not lose heart in this story--in fact, my muse is completely rabid for this story. **

**Enough of my ramblings...Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2: Look to the East

Isabel of Wynclyff was curled up reading in the library when they came for her.

It was raining; the droplets smattered against the pane, the soft pattering a complement to the crackling fire behind her. She didn't look up when the oak doors, ancient with disuse, creaked open. She merely brushed a stray curl behind her ear and continued reading, rather engrossed in the book that was in her lap.

There was a nervous clearing of the throat and a shuffling of feet. Isabel didn't stir, her gold-flecked green eyes never moving from the lines of inky print, her mouth moving as she silently read to herself.

A second throat was cleared, and one of the men finally found the courage to speak up. "Your Ladyship, a man is at the gates."

Isabel finally looked up from the tome in her hands and surveyed her steward, raising her eyebrows. "Is there?" She asked coolly, sounding disinterested. She dropped her gaze back to her book and began reading again.

"Y-y-yes, Your Ladyship," Thomas stuttered, glancing at the captain of the guard next to him. Jonathan gave him a helpless look and then continued to study the carpet under his feet.

"He is strange, Lady," Thomas told Isabel, but Isabel merely gave a ladylike shrug and kept reading.

"We've had strange men come to this estate before." She told them, glancing up briefly. "It would not be the first time."

"He is injured, Lady." Jonathan spoke for the first time, his deep voice sounding more strained than usual. Once again, Isabel was unmoved.

"Injured men have come to my door before," she informed him, turning another creamy page that rustled in the quiet.

"He does not ask for you, Lady."

_That _got Isabel's attention. She glanced up sharply, her brows knitting. Feigning injury was a suitor's trick she had encountered before: what better why to garner a lady's favor than by playing the wounded knight? But a suitor that claimed not to know her? This was not something she was familiar with. Most of the men sent by her father were eager to make sure she knew they sought her hand.

"He may still be my father's man." She pointed out, more to the servants than herself. Standing, she pulled a ribbon from her hair, allowing some of the chestnut locks to fall around her face, placing the silk inside the book to mark her place. Putting the book back into its proper place, she stroked its leather spine for a moment.

"He does not ask for you, Lady, only for hospitality." Thomas informed her. He waited, wondering what she would say. Would she agree to let him in, or send him on his way for fear of another ill-fated suit?

"Bring him in." Isabel ordered, turning towards the fire. "I will see him when he's settled." Both Thomas and Jonathan bowed and then retreated, their boots making soft scuffing noises on the rugs as they left.

Isabel stared into the flames, watching their flickering dance across the logs, lost in thought. Another man at her gates, and the last not even seven days gone! Finding that she was rubbing her arms, Isabel stubbornly crossed them, even though her hands itched. Shaking her head at her own foolishness and cursing her father, she turned away from the fire.

"Matilda!" She exclaimed, startled, as her maid melted out of the shadows, carrying a garment in her arms. Her maid was one of two that had first come with her to this wretched place, and had faithfully stayed when the other fled. Her maid curtseyed and moved to exit the library with her bundle, but Isabel caught the familiar glint of ruby thread and stopped her short, her heart in her throat.

"Matilda, what do you have?" She asked cautiously, trying not to let her revulsion show. Silently, reluctantly, her maid stepped forward and revealed what she carried.

"I was just storing it away, Ladyship," She told her mistress, shifting the glittering scarlet silk in her arms. "I didn't think you would have need of it since the last one left."

Isabel sighed and turned away from the gown, wanting to gathering it in her arms but burn it at the same time. "I may have need of it again, Matilda," she told her maid heavily, her arms beginning to ache at the memories the dress provoked. "Another man has come to our gates."

"So soon!" Matilda gasped, frowning. "Surely, Your Ladyship, your father would not force another on you so soon after the last one. He is not yet seven days gone! He could not have possibly reached His Grace so quickly!"

"My father can do whatever he damn well pleases." Isabel growled. "Curse him to the Old Ones for it," she added. "This man could be my father's man," she told her frightened maid, once again staring at the flames, "but I have been told all he wants is hospitality."

She could hear Matilda shaking her head, the cloth of her simple gown rustling. "No, Your Ladyship. He must be another suitor. Your father knows that there are only two turns of the moon left. He would not be so foolish as to send a man only to ask for hospitality."

"Unless it is another suitor's trick, one I do not know of," Isabel told the flames.

At that moment, Thomas returned. "Your Ladyship, the man is ready to see you."

Isabel turned away from the flames and nodded to her steward. "I'll see to him." She promised, and then turned to her maid who was still cradling the ruby dress as if was made of gold. "Pack it away," she instructed, "but keep it close at hand. I may have need of it later."

* * *

Alan was sure he was dreaming. Or mad. The pain that rippled through the wound he had sustained to his shoulder from a group of bandits was the only real thing, throbbing and cutting out all other reality. He had let his horse guide him to the nearest home, and miraculously, his mount had brought him to this estate. He was so surprised to see the walls of the castle-manor appear out of the dark, rain-soaked night that his wound momentarily stopped paining him. After a long wait at the gates, he was finally admitted. Half-dead from a puncture wound that tore through his shoulder, severing his muscle, he slumped into the arms of captain of the guard and the wary steward.

He remembered being lowered to the cold stone of the courtyard. Shivering from the cold rain that splattered against his face, he vaguely saw his horse being led away, but the pain was reaching fever pitch, and he could barely keep his eyes open. Alan hoped he was far enough east to be near the sea, and he heard a loud roaring over the rain, but he wasn't sure if that was the roaring in his head or the pain from his shoulder.

Supported on one side by the sympathetic Captain Jonathan and on the other by the stiff steward Thomas, Alan was half-led, half-carried to a bedchamber, that, had he been completely lucid, would have shocked him in its opulence. Dazed with pain, he could only grasp with a grateful mind that there was a bed in the chamber.

Collapsing onto the bed, Alan lay still, opening his fever-bright eyes to watch as the two men bustled around like maids, changing him out of his clothes and hanging his soaked ones up to dry. They bundles him into clean clothes and blankets, and with a practiced hand, Captain Jonathan bandaged his wound in clean cloths.

Alan focused slightly as Thomas' round face swam into his view. He tried to concentrate on what the man was saying, but the pain-fever was making its way to his brain, and he could barely keep his eyes on the man's face.

"…you're to stay away from the lady, you hear? She's just had done with a suitor, and she doesn't need the likes of you to come and keep her from recovering."

Alan nodded drowsily, not truly understanding what was going on. He was faintly aware of the captain pulling Thomas from the room with a soft word, and then the pain became too much, and he fell into a pain-induced fever.

* * *

Alan came to consciousness discovering that the pain had become a distant ache and that he felt cool and rested, not hot and restless with the fever. He woke slowly, and the first thing he was truly aware of was a voice singing nearby.

_Come to my call_

_my love, take my hand_

_take me to the land_

_where the stars fall_

_Come to my call_

_my love, bring the band_

_that will bind us_

_take my hand_

_when the stars fall _

_we will be together _

_Come to my call, my love…_

The voice singing the song turned the ballad into a lullaby, a soft crooning tone with a note of sadness about it. The voice itself was female, Alan noted, and not at all the worst singing voice he had ever heard. It was raw and husky, but there was a untrained beauty about it that gave the song its haunting melancholy tune.

Alan opened his eyes and turned his head. The woman sitting next to him gave no notice, but continued to hum the song to herself, murmuring the words under her breath.

"Your song is beautiful, my lady." Alan told her, his voice dry and raspy from disuse. Surprised, the lady turned, but she did not flush or flutter her eyelashes or giggle coyly, as most would when paid a compliment. This lady stared at him, her green eyes mixed with gold regarding him coolly and without emotion, as if he were something to be studied.

Alan stared back, surprised by her lack of reaction, and tried again. "Do you enjoy singing such ballads, my lady?"

At this, the lady's lips curled into a bitter smile, and she gave a ladylike shrug. "I have always enjoyed singing, but I believe lovers to be foolish creatures."

Alan stared, completely poleaxed by this one statement. His brain muttered fuzzily, trying to sort out what was going on, still clouded from the fever, but he knew enough that this woman was not like the others he had known. As part of the king's court, he knew most women of the court to be flighty creatures that liked nothing more than compliments from noblemen and sighing over romantic ballads and hoping that such dramatic events would happen to them. Common women were different, he knew, but this lady was clearly noble-born.

"Have I done something to offend you, my lady?" Alan asked, shifting on the bed as his legs complained and his shoulder began to ache again.

The lady ignored his query and stood. Alan half-expected her to leave, but she merely walked over to the window and flung it open. Blinking as the morning sunlight assaulted his fever-addled brain, Alan stared at his host.

Illuminated by the morning sunlight, he could clearly see her chestnut curls tumbling down her back. Before, only her gold-flecked eyes shone in the gloom, but the morning sunlight gave her creamy skin a golden hue, making her seem part of the sunlight that streamed into the room. Even with her back to him, Alan could tell that this was no young girl, but truly a lady, perhaps even the lady of the estate.

Turning around, she let the sun blaze in, and Alan turned his head aside, blinking as the light seared his eyes. When he could see again, he turned back to find her staring at him again, once again with the curious look on her face as he was some new creature that she did not understand.

"You spoke in your sleep." She informed him, and Alan paled, wondering how much he had said of his assignment.

"You spoke of the Eastern Gate in your fever-sleep," she told him with a crooked smile on her face, different than the bitter one she had worn before. Gesturing behind her to the open window, she told him, "to the east, behind this estate is the Easternmost Sea, or what most call the Eastern Gate to the World."

Alan stared out the window, and as his muddled brain fought to process this information, he realized that the Old Ones had granted him enough fortune to come to the estate that was the farthest in the kingdom, the one closest to the Eastern Gate. His journey was now half over.

Much cheered by this information, he turned to the lady again. "What is your name, my kind lady? And that of your husband? I wish to thank you both for sheltering me in my time of need."

Again the bitter smile twisted the woman's lips, but she responded quietly, "My name is Lady Isabel of Castle Wynclyff, the estate in which you are now staying. I have no husband." The last sentence was uttered carefully, quietly, but Alan heard the disgust at the word _husband_, saw the hurt that flashed so quickly across her face.

"I am Sir Alan Rial of the King's Guard," Alan told her, touching his chest lightly in a sign of a respect and giving her his informal title. His full official title was known only to a few.

Lady Isabel nodded and crossed to his bed, her pale morning robe rustling over the stone floor, the silk hem brushing against her bare feet. Alan shifted again as she neared, the pain in his shoulder increasing until he began sweat in order not to show how much it irritated him.

"Your wound bothers you." Lady Isabel noted, brushing her hand lightly over the wound. Alan stiffened; even though the thick bandage her hand increased the pain. Sensing that the pain was worsening, Isabel drew back, but not before Alan noticed that her fingertips were red--the blood from his wound had soaked completely through the bandages.

Lady Isabel stared at her fingertips, entranced by the scarlet blood that ran down her fingers, and shuddered. Alan watched as her face took on a white pallor and she began to shiver. She rubbed her arms, her bloodied fingers leaving rust-colored streaks on her pale robe.

Looking as if she might vomit, Lady Isabel stared at the blood on her fingers, and Alan watched as she turned and walked towards the door, her stride more hurried than before.

"Lady Isabel?" He called after her, struggling to sit up, his severed muscle screaming at the pain.

"I'll send one of my maids to redress your wound." It was the only reply he received, and then she was gone, the trail of her silk robe fluttering after her around the oak door.

As the young maid Susan slipped in and introduced herself, looking delighted at the idea of redressing this handsome man's wound, Alan stared after his hostess, wondering at the strange place he found himself in.

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**A/N: Well, our two key players have finally met! No, it wasn't love at first sight, but don't give up hope! They're just stubborn. Reviews and constructive criticism are always greatly appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 3: Close Encounters of the Male

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter 3, and thank you to all my reviewers who were so patient in waiting for me to upload this chapter. I just got back from my week-long trip, but I knew that I had to get this chapter up for you. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 3: Close Encounters of the Male Kind

_"Travanye, why?" Isabel called over the repeated thumps of belongings being thrown pell-mell into the waiting carriage and wagons. Her suitor gave no reply--he was too busy bellowing at his servants to hurry. _

_Isabel ran to him, her face streaked with tears. The cool part of her observed that this man was not worth the fuss, but the foolish part of her--the part that always fell in love with the men that her father sent--wanted him to stay and howled at the idea of separation. _

_"Stay," she pleaded, her skirts whipping around her in the brisk spring wind. "You have yet another five days of your visit left," she told him, hoping that his honor would keep him here for as long as he had promised her father. _

_Travanye would not be swayed. He batted her hands away from where they clutched his sleeve and continued to yell orders to his harried servants. When Isabel tugged at his sleeve in desperation, he swung to face her, the anger in his dark eyes causing her to physically flinch from him, dropping her hands and backing away._

_"You no longer deserve the right to address me by my given name," he hissed at her, "and all the money your father could pay me would not be worth my staying here with you for another day!" _

_Shocked and hurt by his harsh words, Isabel continued to back away. He towered over her, and for a moment she wondered if he would strike her, his anger was so great. It would not be the first time a man had struck her in anger, when he discovered that she was not offering what every man wanted. _

_"Your Grace…" she tried to sway him with his true title, but he would not heed her. Turning away, he moved to his carriage at the fastest speed she had ever seen him move, and with one foot in the carriage, he turned to taunt her one last time. _

_"No man will ever marry you!" He spat, and then he was in the carriage, the door was closed, and the horses were whipped into a gallop. They thundered out of the gate, leaving tired servants to travel after in wagons loaded down with supplies. _

_Isabel stood in the courtyard, the roar of the sea in the distance echoing the roaring in her ears. She swayed on her feet, the tears tumbling down her cheeks in warm streaks. Suddenly, she stilled, her face pale. A coldness stole through her veins as part of her heart--the same heart that had withstood the suits of fifty men thus far--crumpled within her. The cool and detached part of her soul--the part that was always a comfort after she mourned the men--took over. _

_Wiping the tears from her eyes, Isabel turned to go back inside. She could no longer bear the glorious spring day--once so beautiful, it was now mocking her pain. It may be true that no man would ever marry her, but she would make sure that no man ever garnered her love unless he was truly worthy of it. _

_Then the sobs wracked her body as her love-struck heart took in the news that Travanye was gone. She had loved him, and the sobs came faster as she succumbed to the pain that was lapping at her soul. She sank to the cold stone of the courtyard, unable to move as the tears blurred her vision and grief took her heart. _

Isabel was still sobbing as she thrashed, tearing the sheets from the bed as she tossed and turned. Sitting upright, she breathed deeply, letting the sobs exit her body until they were nothing more by heaving hiccups. She wiped the tears from her face and stared into the darkness, shuddering at the memories her dream had evoked. Her room was dark, the shutters closed against the sea wind, and the black nothingness suddenly seemed oppressive.

A light shown around the door, and Isabel watched as Matilda slipped into the room, cradling her candle. "I heard your cry, Lady Isabel," she told her mistress, approaching the bed, her white dressing robe making her seem like a ghost in the night. "Which was it this time?"

"Travanye." Isabel answered listlessly, watching the candle flame dance in the air. Matilda was watching her with a sympathetic gaze, but Isabel looked away. She didn't want her maid's pity.

Matilda sighed and set the candle down on the small table that stood next to Isabel's bed. Every time a man appeared at the gates and was taken in, Isabel had the dream about the first man that had ever truly spurned her--the first man she had ever truly loved. But her love hadn't been enough for the man that had always gotten what he wanted. The nightmare plagued her mistress constantly, and Matilda wished there was something she could do to ease her lady's pain.

"Should I fetch the gown, Your Ladyship?" She asked, cautiously. "Would that help your sleep?"

Isabel shook her head and shuddered, remembering the blood that had stained her fingertips when she went to see the man--Alan, was it?--earlier that morning. "No, Matilda," she answered, "the gown might make my dreams even more restless."

In the candlelight, Matilda glimpsed the bitter smile that twisted Isabel's lips and nodded, understanding. "Very well," she answered, curtseying and stifling a yawn. "If Your Ladyship doesn't mind, I'll be getting off to bed."

"Go." Isabel told her firmly, waving a hand in the direction of the door as she lay back down. Turning on her side, she listened to the door close quietly, and then stared at the darkness beyond her bed. The candle's feeble light cast odd shadows on the wall in front her that moved in an odd dance. Soothed by the motions, Isabel finally drifted off into a sleep blissfully devoid of all dreams and all men.

* * *

Alan opened his eyes, feeling dazed and confused. There was a pulsing ache in his shoulder and a warm, heavy weight on top of him. The morning sunlight stung his eyes, and as he closed them again, adjusting the light, he took in the scent of sea salt mixed with wildflowers that floated into the room on the breeze. Through the open window came the calls of the sea birds, and Alan slowly remembered where he was.

Castle Wynclyff. Lady Isabel. His shoulder. His mission. The Eastern Gate.

Blinking down at his chest, Alan discovered the source of the weight. Blue eyes blinked back at him, and gold-and-black ears twitched at him. The cat stared at him imperiously, as if it were her right to be resting on his chest, and then began to purr, kneading her claws into his shirt.

Reaching a shaky hand up to tousle the cat's fur, Alan murmured to her, his voice low. "Hello, my lass, how are you?" The cat purred in response, closing her eyes in obvious pleasure at his ministrations.

Isabel watched from the shadow of the doorway, watching the unlikely pair and unnoticed by both. The cat, once a young kitten she had rescued from a farmer that was more than eager to drown the litter, was her companion. With her unusual marbled gold and black coat and her captivating blue eyes, Isabel gave her the only name that fit. With her coat a mixture of light and dark, Isabel named her after the only celestial being that embodied both: Kochava--the star.

And this man! Who was he, that he could charm her finicky companion so quickly? Isabel had learned nothing of him except that he was a nobleman and he was part of the King's Guard.

Alan looked up as the cat's head swiveled to stare in the direction of the door and his hostess stepped into the room.

"Morning, Lady Isabel." He spoke the greeting cautiously, watching her. She made no answer, only moved once again to the window to stare at the pounding sea below.

"If Kochava is bothering you, I can remove her." It took Alan a moment to understand that she meant that cat.

"She's no trouble at all," Alan told her, petting the cat's twitching tail and smiling as he was rewarded with a purr. "I don't mind waking up to find such a beautiful lass on top of me." His grin invited Isabel to share the humor of his jest. Instead, he found her staring at him with a troubled look on her face, as if he was something she couldn't understood.

"You're not like the others who came before," she said, seeming to speak more to herself than him.

"Others?" Alan asked, his brow creasing in puzzlement. Isabel didn't answer or didn't hear him. She turned to the window again, watching as a gull swooped towards the surf, searching for prey.

Then, so softly Alan wasn't sure he had heard her correctly, she told him, "You spoke of your son when the pain-fever took you the first afternoon."

"Lucas." Alan spoke the name just as softly, and Isabel stiffened at the amount of pain that laced his voice. He clearly cared for his son.

Turned away from the window, she studied him with so much sympathy and pain that Alan looked away, surprised by the amount of unguarded emotion in her eyes. Then it was gone, replaced with a sense of urgency, or even…panic?

"I have errands to perform," she told him, heading for the door. Alan got the impression that she no longer could stand being in the same room with him. "If you require anything, call for one of the maids. They will be more than willing to serve you."

Alan watched, bewildered, as she swept out of the room. There was something very wrong, he decided, wishing his shoulder would heal faster. Something was troubling Lady Isabel, but he had no interest in discovering what it was. He had an assignment to complete, and the faster he healed, the faster he could be done with it and be back with his son.

* * *

The small village of Wynclyff had been there as long as anyone living in the town could remember. It took its name from the estate that guarded it from being ransacked by the king or bandits, and the various lords of the manor had always been kind to the townspeople. Originally, the village and estate had both been known as Wyndclyff, after the cliff the estate perched on and the sea that thundered below the sheer drop, but somewhere in the annals of time the 'd' had been dropped. Thirty-five years ago, the village had suffered a crippling blow when the heir to the estate and their reigning lady went off to marry some pompous duke.

Then, ten years ago, the lady's daughter had been brought to the estate to live. The villagers rejoiced at the idea of having their lady's daughter govern them, but when they discovered that the daughter was a young child of fourteen, many had their doubts. Ten years had passed since that day, and the villagers--now willing to die to protect their lady--zealously guarded their lady and hated every man that came to the gates, convinced each time that this was the one who would rob them of their lady as the last one had been taken from them. Each time the man was sent away, they breathed a sigh of relief and sent small gifts up to the castle, knowing that their lady would be grieving the loss of each lover.

Isabel wandered down beaten path that led through the center of the village, a true smile creeping out as she watched some children tumble in the dirt, engrossed in a game of tag. It was here that she feared no one, feared no man; the villagers would never hurt her. Many called greetings as she wandered down the road, a large basket slung over one arm. She wore a simple dress and could have easily passed as one of their own, but they would never let her forget that she was their mistress and lady of the estate that crowned the cliff, watching over the village.

Entering the dusty forge of the blacksmith, Isabel smiled at the sooty figure that emerged from the smoke the bellows created. "Johan," she greeted the man that took her hand and bowed over it, "I need one of my mares looked at. She seems to have thrown a shoe. Will you come up to the castle and look her over?"

Johan, who also doubled as the village farrier, nodded enthusiastically. "It would be my pleasure, my lady." He told Isabel in his deep voice. Thanking him and pressing a coin into his palm, Isabel made her way to the bakery.

The bell triggered by the door opening welcomed Isabel into the cozy interior of the bakery, owned and run by the warm and always hospitable Alama, a woman always ready to share a piece of gossip.

Her eldest daughter Jemma was running the counter and serving the woman in front of her, but the second she spotted Isabel, she called into the back room, "Ma! The lady's here to see you!"

Alama came bustling out at the sound of her daughter's summons, her face flushed with the warmth from the ovens that served the best bread in the village. "My lady!" She called, hurrying to Isabel's side.

Isabel smiled at the woman that had always given her treats when she was little. "Alama, I require a basket of your best pastries." She gave the order as strictly as she could, but her smile ruined the effect.

"Of course, Your Ladyship," Alama replied, her dark eyes creasing at the corners as she gave a warm smile in return. "Are you visiting the young ones this morning?"

Isabel nodded, resting against the counter. "It's been too long," she murmured, watching the older woman pile fresh-baked pastries into the cloth-lined basket, flakes of the bread floating down to nestle in the corners of the cloth.

"Your Ladyship," Alama said, after finishing with the basket and waving away Isabel's attempts to pay, "is it true that another man has found his way to your gates?"

Isabel opened her mouth to reply, and then glanced to the side as a flash of movement caught her eye. The bakery maids, sensing gossip, had clustered nearby, attempting to look busy and eavesdrop at the same time.

Alama followed Isabel's gaze and frowned at the maids. "Be off with you!" She cried, flapping her apron at the girls as if they were a flock of disobedient geese. The maids scattered, and Isabel turned her gaze back to Alama.

"It is true that a man is staying at my estate." She told Alama softly, while the older woman frowned. "He doesn't ask for me," Isabel confided, "only for hospitality."

Alama placed her large, calloused hand over Isabel's small, pale one. "He will have his hospitality and move on, have no fear." She consoled the younger woman.

Isabel nodded and drew back. Alama saw the change from woman to lady of the estate and handed the basket to Isabel with a small curtsey. Isabel took the basket with a nod and left the warm bakery for the brisk wind outside.

Turning away, Alama noticed a glint out of the corner of her eye. Looking down, she discovered that Isabel had left coins to pay for the pastries. Shaking her head at the lady's foolishness at paying for something that she would gladly give, Alama turned back to the ovens, finding that the maids had left the bread to burn in order to attain the latest gossip.

* * *

Returning to the estate in high spirits with her basket now empty, Isabel made her way to her rooms to change from a simple dress into something more formal to entertain her guest at dinner. Seeing the door slightly ajar, she frowned, and then assumed the Matilda was within, possibly turning down the bed or putting some linens away. Striding in without notice, Isabel froze at the sight of a very unwelcome visitor.

Alan wheeled around at the sound of her entrance, his curious face instantly morphing into features of what Isabel knew to be contriteness, but all rational thought was wiped out by the wave of anger that engulfed her.

"What are you doing in my bedchamber?" Isabel growled, each word coated with anger and coming out sharp as a knife blade. Her gaze swept the room, trying to discover what was missing or out of place. Nothing seemed wrong, but all her misgivings about men and what they were capable of rose unbidden to the surface, clamoring for her attention. Letting her anger guide her, she glared at the man that had so heedlessly trespassed.

"Get out." The command was soft, but even though Alan understood the danger of disobeying, he didn't move. Spreading his hands wide and showing that he carried nothing and was innocent, he took a step away from her, the anger that so clearly radiated from her slim form terrifying.

"Your Ladyship," he said shakily, "I meant no disrespect by entering your rooms. The head maid deemed me able to walk about, so I decided to explore the castle. I had no idea these rooms were yours."

Isabel resisted the urge to throw something at him. Matilda would be hearing about this if it was, in fact, her idea to let him wander the castle alone.

"Get out." She repeated, her head pounding. No other man had entered her bedchamber before, invited or otherwise, and a breach of the one room that was her sole sanctuary in the castle made her feel lightheaded.

She swayed on her feet, and she saw Alan move to help her. Tight-lipped, she waved him angrily away and only repeated her plea for him to exit. "Leave."

Wisely realizing that he would only be doing more harm than help by staying, Alan gave her a quick bow and fled.

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**A/N: Poor guy! He has a lot to learn. What did you guys think? Reviews are always appreciated! **


	5. Chapter 4: Some Wounds Run Deep

**A/N: Well, I'm back with the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! I know that it may seem like nothing has been happening in this story so far, but I beg you to bear with me. Everything will be revealed in due time--the characters are still developing into their roles. Next chapter we meet some new characters that may shed some light on certain situations. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 4: Some Wounds Run Deep

_Another one was leaving. Isabel didn't even bother to go see him off. Truth be told, she didn't favor this one at all, and was quite glad he was leaving. But, if she was glad of his departure, why did her heart ache so much? _

_She watched from the safety of the shadows of the threshold as Lord Gabriel gathered up his things in a huff. Observing him, she suddenly realized that her father chose the same type of men to send to her at every fortnight and then every turn of the moon: All were greedy and power-hungry, like her father. _

_There was a bitter smile on her face as she pondered this fact, and Lord Gabriel--turning to call for more wine--spotted her. _

_"What are you smiling at, wench?" He spat, glaring at her as much as his wine-filled stupor would allow. Isabel continued to stare at him, unafraid. He was more likely to pass out than strike her, and either way, she didn't care what he did. He was nothing to her. If she had fallen in love with every man that came to her per her father's request, she would have long been dead. Since making her first mistakes, she had chosen carefully the men that she let herself grow attached to. But in the end, they all wanted the same thing. _

_"Smiling because your virtue is still intact," Lord Gabriel snarled, staggering forward, his hand raised to strike her, but Isabel neither flinched nor backed away. Stumbling, Lord Gabriel could barely stand up in his inebriated state, and Isabel knew that he would never be able to reach her before he fell over. _

_"Get him out of my sight." She ordered coldly to Jonathan, who stood protectively next to her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Nodding curtly, the captain of the guard seemed only too glad to take the blustering lord by the collar and drag him unceremoniously to his waiting carriage. _

_Still shouting threats, Lord Gabriel allowed himself to be bundled into the carriage. A few moments later, loud snores could be heard from within. Several relieved servants finished loading the nobleman's belongings. The horses were told to trot, and a small caravan left through the gates. _

_Jonathan, returning to his post by his lady's side, was the first to notice Isabel's tears. Placing a soft hand on her shoulder, he consoled her. "Lady, he was not worthy of you." _

_While Isabel believed him wholeheartedly, there was still a grieving process that had to be completed, and turning to go back to the castle, she called for Matilda. Her maid appeared out of the shadows, cradling the red dress in her arms. _

Isabel came out of her dream shuddering, the image of the red dress still floating in front of her like a horrible vision she could not rid herself of. Sitting upright and trying to keep the tears from falling, she yelped in pain as her head collided solidly with another hard object above her.

"Lady Isabel?" The hushed whisper in the darkness of her room had Isabel frozen to the spot. It was not Matilda's voice that spoke out of the gloom, but a distinctly male voice. No white dressing robe shone in the light of the candle that flickered on her beside table, only the snow-white of a dressed wound.

Scrambling across the blankets, Isabel cowered on the other side of the bed, as far away from Alan as she could get. "Get out." She spat, echoing her command from earlier that day. Twice this man had entered her bedchamber without her consent! Who did he think he was?

"Lady Isabel?" Alan asked again, and Isabel heard the concern in his voice. "I heard you cry out. Are you all right?" He rubbed his head from where her skull had collided with his own in the dark, but all his attention was on her.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Isabel glared at the hazy figure that hovered near the candle flame. "I am fine," she told him coldly. "I would appreciate it very much if you left me alone."

Contrary to her orders, she felt the edge of the bed dip as Alan sat down. Fuming with rage, Isabel groped around for something to throw at the man to get her message across. Twice this man had defied her orders, and now he expected to stay? Finding only a pillow, Isabel picked it up and threw it at the silhouette perched on her bed, rewarded when her missile found its mark.

Clearly speechless at this attack, Alan set the pillow aside. Then, thinking better of it, he picked it up and threw right back, hitting Isabel in the face.

Isabel gaped at the man, her anger growing. This man dared… Just as she was about to take up an empty candlestick and lob it at him, his voice issued from the figure on her bed.

"What dream was it?"

It was a question casually spoken, as if they were having a conversation in the middle of a sunlit day and not in the early morning hours. Isabel stared at him for a moment more, and then, to her surprise, found herself answering him.

"A nightmare of a…monster." She told him, still keeping as much distance between them as was possible. She did not want to tell him that she had dreamt of another suitor leaving her grieve.

"Another suitor?" Alan guessed, but there was no smugness in his tone.

Sensing Isabel staring, and taking her silence as confirmation to continue, he shrugged, watching her shadowy figure at the other side of the bed. "The maids talk."

Isabel made a mental note to have Matilda punish every single maid.

"Yes," she found herself admitting. "I dreamt of another spurned suitor." She didn't understand why she was telling Alan all this. Perhaps the dark emboldened her, or perhaps it was the constant thought that reminded her that he did not seek her, only hospitality.

She could feel Alan staring at her with what she suspected was sympathy, and she squirmed. She didn't want his sympathy or his pity, and she didn't want him in her bedchamber in the middle of the night.

"I have dreams that plague me as well." Alan told her, and he saw her head come up from where she had been studying the blankets beneath her. Her gold-flecked eyes caught the candlelight, making them shimmer, and for a moment, he forgot what he was talking about.

"What dreams?" Isabel found herself asking, even though she didn't know why. She didn't want to be interested in what this man had to say, but for some reason, she felt drawn to his pain, so like her own.

"My son." Alan's voice broke, and Isabel flinched away from the raw emotion she heard there. "His mother. I see her death again and again, and over and over I see her making me promise to care for her son. And each time, even though I love the boy, I see myself refuse."

Isabel stared at his shadowy figure, feeling pity well up within her for the first time. Pity not for herself, but for this man, who clearly loved his son and mourned his wife. She knew what sort of promise, what sort of love it took to care for a child. She knew where his horror of refusing would surface in his dreams.

Isabel surprised herself by leaning forward and placing her hand over his where it rested on the sheets. "A hard choice to make, I'm sure." She murmured, and Alan looked up, more surprised by the touch than by her words.

This close, Isabel could see that the blood was beginning to seep through Alan's dressing again. "Your wound is bleeding." She pointed out, and Alan nodded tightly, his jaw clenched against the pain.

Leaving the bed, Isabel rested her hand on his good shoulder. "Wait here." She instructed, and for once, Alan did as she bid, shifting farther onto the bed so he could rest all his weight on it.

A short while later, Isabel returned with her arms full of candles, bandages, ointments and salves. Lighting all the candles and placing them around the bed, she unwound the soiled bandages from Alan's shoulder, grimacing at the sight of blood but making sure not to touch, knowing what it would do to her.

Placing the soaked bandages aside to be burned in the morning, Isabel gasped at the sight of Alan's wound. "By the Old Ones, how are you still alive?" She wondered, staring at the gaping wound that bled freely. Deep and large, the arrow had cleanly severed one of the muscles in Alan's shoulder, leaving one arm completely useless.

Alan shrugged his good shoulder and grimaced at the pull it caused on his injured shoulder. Isabel saw the pain as it flashed across his face, and another wave of pity swept over her. Shaking it off and wondering why she cared so much about this man, she got to work.

Rubbing in the ointment was a delicate task, for Isabel did not want to cause Alan any more pain than he was already in and was rather reluctant to touch the blood that flowed so abundantly. Applying a heavy layer of a salve to the wounded areas in his shoulder, Isabel got to work wrapping the clean bandages around the shoulder in a practiced and gentle way.

"How do you know how to bandage wounds?" Alan ventured to ask, awed by her gentle skill. Isabel shrugged, her eyes on her task.

"I often was called upon to heal the villagers' various ailments, and I studied medicine with a village healer for a time as a young child." A smile--a genuine smile, not the bitter ones Alan had seen before--lit her face, and Alan stared, surprised by the change in her features.

Leaning over his shoulder to make sure that she had bandaged and sealed everything properly, Isabel tucked the edges of the cloth in. Alan stiffened as her curls, loosened in her sleep, tumbled over his shoulder, tickling his collarbone. Unconsciously, he inhaled her scent--a soft floral smell that reminded him of the wildflowers that grew by the sea. Suddenly, he was aware of her: of her nightgown, loose and flimsy, clinging to her slim body, her hands, gentle and warm against his shoulder, her breath puffing against the skin of his back as she concentrated.

Isabel leaned back, content and pleased with her work. A gentle smile lit her lips at the sight of the bandages wrapped tightly around the wound, but it soon disappeared as she frowned, worried as the blood began to seep through again.

"You will have to have that wound bandaged again in the morning," she told Alan, who merely nodded, his brown eyes focusing on her as he yawned.

"Back to bed with you," she ordered softly, turning away from him to climb back into her bed. Extinguishing all the candles except one, Alan stood, taking the final candle with him.

"May the Old Ones guard your dreams." He told her, his gaze warm.

Surprised by the courteous wish for pleasant dreams, Isabel could only blink. Finding her tongue, she managed to murmur the proper response. "May the Old Ones give you pleasant dreams."

Alan made his way to the door, and Isabel watched him leave. With the final candle gone, her room was plunged back into darkness. Her fears of men reappeared, but after seeing Alan's pain and the way he had not tried to take advantage of her, Isabel stared after him, confused. It was a long time before she slept again.

* * *

Dawn found her wandering the beach, chasing the sandpipers that played in the shallows. Isabel lifted her head as the sea breeze swept down the sand, spraying sea salt and the smell of wild freedom in the air. Dashing into the surf, she delighted in the feel of the cool sand between her toes and the waves gathering gold from the rising sun.

Isabel often walked the beach when she had a rough night's sleep--the pounding of the surf soothed her spirits. The servants knew better than to disturb her when she was on the beach unless it was an emergency, and so, when Isabel heard footsteps squishing through the sand behind her, she sighed, knowing it could only be one person.

Wheeling around, she confronted a sleep-tousled Alan who held up a hand in greeting. "Morning, my lady," he called to her, picking his way down the beach on bare feet, careful to avoid the sharp shells that littered the sand. "I trust your sleep was well?"

"Why do you insist on following me?" Isabel asked, more curious than demanding, and Alan stopped in his tracks, staring at her curiously.

"I only came to inquire after your health, my lady," he said courteously, but was unable to conceal the sharp edge it had taken. "If you prefer me to return to my rooms, I shall."

"No!" The response came out quicker than Isabel intended, and despite her attempts not to, she blushed. "I only was concerned for your wound," she covered quickly, turning her gaze back to the crashing waves. "The sea salt cannot be healing."

Behind her, she heard Alan inhale, and heard the rush of air leave his lungs again. "I beg your leave to disagree," she heard him murmur, knowing that the wind swept his words right past her ears. "I feel that exposure to the sea air is always healing."

Isabel swung around to face him, the pale dressing robe that concealed her flimsy nightgown flapping in the wind. "Must you always disagree?" She asked, a wry smile curling her lips against her better judgment.

Alan smiled, and Isabel stared, surprised at how young and boyish it made his face look. "Only when I argue with you, my lady." He said, his brown eyes warm as they had been the night before.

Looking away, Isabel reminded herself that this man only asked for hospitality.

A splash brought her out of her musing, and when she looked up, she spotted Alan standing before her, dripping wet and wading into the surf. Using his good arm, he sent the water splashing towards her. Yelping in surprise, Isabel backed out of the shallows, narrowing her eyes. Alan continued to stand, comfortable in the knee-deep water as Isabel deliberated from the safety of the sand.

Charging into the water with a wild yell, Isabel grinned devilishly as she used both hands to send the waves back towards Alan. She caught the look of pleased surprise on his face before he darted out of the way to avoid a wall of water in the face. Using his good hand, he sent a returning wave towards her, but Isabel dodged too quickly for him.

Their sparring ended as the sun fully rose over the horizon, and soaking wet, both waded out of the water. Isabel realized belatedly how much her nightgown showed when plastered to her body, and a soaked dressing gown did nothing to hide her womanly figure.

Alan watched as she waded out of the water, admiring the way her gown clung to her. Her hair was plastered to her head, curling more than it already did, but the biggest change was how relaxed she seemed. Her smiles came easily now, and the strange sense of urgency and panic that she carried with her was gone. He followed, and when Isabel turned, he saw her gaze sweep his bare chest for an instant.

Isabel stared at Alan's shoulder, realizing that the blood had already soaked through since the night before. Biting her lip, she realized that the sea spray had probably done more harm than good.

"Your shoulder needs redressing," she pointed out, and Alan followed her gaze to the wound that was pulsing scarlet, frowning at the abundance of blood.

Stepping closer to examine the wound, Isabel was distracted for a moment by the glimmer of water droplets on Alan's bare chest. Running her hand lightly across them, she felt his skin ripple slightly under her hand. Ignoring the blush that threatened to spread, she pressed gently against Alan's shoulder, pulling her hand away as he flinched.

"Your wound is inflamed." She told him softly, looking up into his eyes. Her breath caught, realizing that she was close enough to see the small gold flecks that turned his brown eyes to amber. The air thickened between them, and for a moment, Isabel hazily wondered what he would do. Alan merely stood there, hypnotized by the pull between them as well.

Suddenly remembering that this man was not seeking her affections and that she had no right to feel any sort of attachment for him, Isabel fell back, turning away in order to calm her racing heart. She didn't see Alan's face flash with disappointment; she was too busy reliving every lie that every man had ever told her, every tactic they had ever used to gather her favor and attraction. Disgusted with herself for caring so much, she turned back to Alan, letting her cold heart take over.

"We should return to the castle." She told him stiffly, beginning to stride up the steep path to the fortress that towered above them, its blank windows glinting with sunlight and seeming to be staring out to sea longingly. Alan, confused by the change of heart a few moments before, followed meekly behind.

* * *

Dinner that night was a solemn and silent affair. Alan, subdued by Isabel's rapidly changing moods, had kept to himself for the majority of the afternoon once Isabel had bandaged his shoulder.

Isabel, for her part, was busy mulling over her situation. She had no reason to become attached to his man; he was not a suitor her father had sent to her--he was merely a man asking for shelter after being wounded. She was so busy wondering how long it would take for his wound to heal that she didn't notice Alan staring at her, fixated.

Looking up from her meal and finding his eyes on her, she stared right back. Their silent staring match continued on for several moments more, but upon remembering the desire that had swamped her on the beach, Isabel blushed, the first to look away.

Alan was the first to speak, however. "Did my behavior offend you in any way this morning, my lady?" He asked courteously, inclining his head towards her in a sign of respect.

At the other end of the table, Isabel scrambled for an answer. "No, it did not." She replied stiffly, and she saw Alan frown in reply.

"Then, why, my lady, did you suddenly become so cold?" He wondered. "If I did nothing wrong, why were you suddenly angry?"

Setting down her silverware and staring him full in the face, Isabel told him frankly, "I was angry at myself."

Alan's brow creased as he continued to frown, going over this new piece of evidence in his mind. "Why would you be angry at yourself?" He asked her. "You did nothing wrong."

"It is not in my nature to care for others deeply." Isabel found herself telling him, grasping for words and finding no other way to say it.

At the other end of the table, Alan's face smoothed out, and the look on his face told Isabel that he understood. Wanting to desperately ask how he understood her so well, Isabel held her tongue, wishing she knew what he was going to say.

"Isabel." Alan's use of her given name, spoken so softly, surprised the woman across from him. "It is not wrong to care for others."

"Alan." Isabel tried out the man's given name on her tongue, finding it easy to adjust to. "I understand that is not wrong to care for others. It was just not the way I was raised."

Alan nodded, and his gaze sharpened as Isabel leaned forward, her green eyes sparkling. "How do you understand me?" She asked, her whispered query making it all the way down the table in the otherwise silent room.

Alan grinned, and to his pleasure, Isabel returned it. "I know a thing or two about a broken soul, Isabel." He told her, and Isabel's gaze sharpened with interest.

She opened her mouth to ask another question, thought better of it, and went back to her food. This man confused her, and she wasn't sure if he knew everything about broken hearts. Once again she reminded herself that this man asked only for hospitality.

* * *

**A/N: Hmm...looks like Isabel might be softening somewhat. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	6. Chapter 5: Childhood Sweetness

**A/N: Since you all wanted the next chapter, I figured I'd give it to you. This story is almost half over, and even though I know it seems as if nothing has happened, I promise, things will pick up in the next two chapters. Chapter 5 introduces you to some new characters, and I hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter 5: Childhood Sweetness

The spring breeze whipped along the coast, teasing the waves of the Eastern Gate to the World as it sped giddily upwards, out of the reach of the angry waves that continually crashed against the shore. It raced merrily up the cliff face, gathering strength and becoming a full-blown wind as it flitted gaily amongst the crevices in the marbled cliff, teasing the wings of the gulls that made their homes there. Tired of exploring, it shot up, clearing the craggy rock and coming to hover over the tall grasses that crowned the top of the cliff. Dancing with the blades, its attention was caught by the castle that loomed above everything, a forbidden stone fortress just begging to be toyed with.

The wind took to the challenge, rising far above the stone turrets of the estate. Just as it was about to speed through the courtyards and rooms, intent on making the stone sing, movement and sound below found its way to the wind. It sped after the two creatures that were carefully making their way down the dirt path that led to the castle, well-marked by the ruts of wheels and the footsteps of many.

Isabel turned to check on the progress of her companion and came face-to-face with the blustering wind. It came from the sea, no doubt, pressing and harsh, whipping her hair and clothes backwards, as if trying to tear them from her form. She could feel the hints of sea spray it carried, and although the springtime sun warmed her, she still shivered. A sea wind that carried a hint of a storm was always chilling, no matter how warm the sun could be.

Alan stumbled a bit, the wind pushing roughly into his back. His clothes were plastered to his body from the force, and his injured shoulder stung through the fresh dressing. It seemed that this wound would be one to tell him when bad weather was coming, and although he would be glad of it in the future, he was merely annoyed at present. Matilda had deemed him able enough to accompany Isabel into the village, but that didn't mean his shoulder was fully healed. His wound still festered, making it impossible for him to resume his journey. Such a long-healing wound also meant that his balance was off kilter, making his journey down the steep road from Castle Wynclyff slightly precarious. He refused Isabel's help, but it meant that he had to be careful--with one good arm, any sort of fall could spell even more injury.

He looked up to find Isabel watching him, concern creasing her features. She was much more open since their truce of sorts two days ago, but that didn't mean that she was open about everything. She showed concern for him, but not much else. Her chestnut curls, bound tightly, had escaped her bun and were swinging around her face in the harsh wind. Her green eyes watched his progress, and he noticed the slightest of smiles curling her mouth--but he couldn't tell if that was from his predicament or not.

"Will the lady kindly reveal where we are traveling?" He asked impatiently for the fourth time since they had started their--in his case, perilous--journey. Isabel said nothing, but her smile deepened slightly, taking on a mysterious and almost joyful cast.

She back to the road, leaving him to navigate the last few tricky footsteps himself. The ground leveled out, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief, hurrying to catch up with her. Isabel glanced at him as he drew even. She knew he had been nervous about venturing down the path with his shoulder, and had she thought she could have helped, she would have offered. Sweat beaded his brow from his exertions, and she could feel his relief, palpable at this close proximity.

Instead of following the winding road into the approaching village, as she normally would, Isabel turned off the beaten path. Her errands did not lie in the village of Wynclyff today. Alan stared after her for a moment, but seeing that she continued confidently and did not turn once, he followed behind, casting a glance over his shoulder at the village, confused.

Isabel plunged across grassy fields, her dress dragging against the tall grass as she quickened her pace, excitement building. She could trace this route blind; she had followed it almost every day for the last eight years. The last few days, because of Alan's unexpected arrival and the complications that arose because of it, she had not come. It had been too long, in her opinion.

Alan watched as Isabel strode purposely across the fields, clearly followed an invisible road she knew well. A stand of trees grew larger as they approached, and Isabel showed no signs of slowing. She melted into the shadows of the trees and into the coolness of the woods, leaving Alan to follow, still confused. The trees thinned as he followed the bright silk of Isabel's blue gown through the foliage, and soon he was staring at a small clearing that opened in front of him, as if summoned by some magic.

A small hovel sat on one side, and a stream bubbled happily through the grass. It was well sheltered by trees, the crowns knitting above their heads to provide a natural roof, leaving dappled sunlight to filter through and create patterns on the grass below. Despite the tree-roof, it was bright with sunlight, and soft beams filtered through the brush that surrounded the small space.

Alan's attention was drawn back to the hovel as the door flew open and a yellow blur streaked through it, straight for Isabel, shrieking. Alan watched, confused, as Isabel laughed and knelt down, opening her arms for the small creature.

"Lady Bell! Lady Bell!" It sounded like a bird's high pitched call, and it took Alan a moment to realize that it was a child's voice, squealing with excitement.

Isabel laughed gently, and Alan stared at her in surprise. It was not the small bitter laugh that he had heard her use before; it was the laugh of a mother, the same laugh Marnie used when spoiling her nephew.

"How are you, Baby Belle?" Isabel asked the creature in her arms, and Alan could now distinguish dark curls and laughing brown eyes. The little girl in the yellow dress pouted at the name.

"I'm not a baby, 'nymore, Lady Bell!" She insisted, her arms still wrapped around Isabel's neck. "I'm 'most eight summers!"

Isabel sat back on her heels, feigning surprise. "You can't be!" She gasped, tweaking the girl's nose. "What happened to the baby I cared for?"

Belle giggled, her laughter reminding Alan of the bubbling creek that ran close by. "I growed up!" She said triumphantly, wriggling out of Isabel's lap and racing away. She gathered up a handful of flowers and trotted back to Isabel, presenting them. "See? I brung you flowers, like 'mam said we was 'apposed to."

Isabel's face softened with pain at the mention of Belle's mother, and she pulled the girl to her, stroking her raven curls. "Your mother would be proud of you." She assured the young girl, and Belle watched her, utterly trusting of everything her benefactor said.

"Now," she said, forcing her tone to lighten as she tickled the young girl, causing her to giggle, "where's my tadpole?"

Belle shrugged and nodded towards the small structure at the far end of the clearing. "He's inside. He was nappin', but I 'appose he's woke now." Turning her face towards the hovel, but never leaving the sanctuary of Isabel's lap, she yelled, "Liam! Lady's Bell's come!"

There was no response from the hovel for several long moments, and Belle watched it expectantly. Finally, a rustling came from within, and very groggy four year old boy toddled to the door, blinking in the sunlight. His tousled shock of red hair stood up at all angles, and his green eyes peered sleepily at the figures seated comfortably in the grass.

"Lady Bell?" He mumbled sleepily, and then he was wandering towards them as fast as his legs could take him. He wobbled somewhat, still not fully awake, but he tumbled into Isabel's lap and blinked warmly up at her, smiling.

Isabel cuddled him to her, and the little boy did not object, snuggling close and closing his eyes in the warm sunlight, enjoying the feeling of silk against his cheek. Belle watched her little brother drift off, and just as he was about to fall asleep, she prodded him.

"Get up!" She cried, getting to her feet and scampering off into the grass. "Time to play!" William--also known as Liam--blinked sleepily at her, but then followed obediently, watching as his sister tumbled through the grass after a brightly colored butterfly.

Belle was the first to spot Alan where he still stood by the edge of the tree line, and her brown eyes grew wide at the sight of the this stranger. Liam stared too, but he was more mesmerized by the glint of Alan's sword than by the fact that he didn't know this man. Instinctively, Belle retreated to the security of Isabel's lap, hiding her face in the lady's skirts.

Isabel patted the trembling curls, worried. "Belle, what's wrong?"

The little girl wouldn't lift her face, so her words were muffled in yards of silk. "Lady Bell, there's a scary man here!" She curled closer towards Isabel, her small form shaking.

"Scary man…?" Isabel repeated, startled, and then twisted around to find Liam staring, transfixed, at a sheepishly grinning Alan. "Oh." She realized, smiling at Alan in apology before turning to the little girl on her lap. "Belle, that is my friend Alan," she told the quivering girl. "He will not hurt you."

"He willn't?" The words were muffled, but Belle raised her face off Isabel's skirts, her brown eyes large with fear.

Isabel smiled down at her, banishing all her fears. "No, he will not. He is a friend." Belle nodded, trusting implicitly. If Lady Bell said the man would not hurt them, he wouldn't. Lady Bell never went back on her word. Reassured, she ran off again, staying within the circle of trees and as far away from Alan as possible.

Liam, however, had no such qualms. He was still watching the sunlight glance off Alan's blade, and he had sat down to watch the metal sparkle. Alan smiled at the boy who wasn't much younger than his son, amused by his fixation. Belle approached long enough to tug her brother away from the unfamiliar man and convince him to play with the stones in the stream bed with her.

Alan crossed to Isabel's side when the children were occupied, marveling at the different person she was with these children. Her face had softened, and she watched their movements like a hawk, intent on seeing that they did not come to harm. He knew that parental fear himself, and he contented himself with watching them as well, realizing how much he missed his son.

"Where did these children come from?" He asked, rolling his shoulder when it became stiff and wincing from the pain.

Isabel didn't take her eyes off the children when she spoke, seemingly intent on Belle's water-splashing antics. "They are the children of my first lady-in-waiting. She fell in love with the village woodsman when we first came here, and I gave my blessing for them to be married."

"Came here?" Alan asked, his brow knitting in confusion for the sixth time since they started their journey. "You were not born here?"

Immediately, Isabel's gaze hardened into a look that he now recognized when she gave away something he should not be privy to. "No." The word was the coldest he had ever heard her, and he wisely asked no more questions about her origins.

"Belle was born shortly after," Isabel continued her story, smiling as the girl splashed her brother, who had now begun swimming in the gentle current, as comfortable as a young frog. "I am the Old Ones Guardian to both, as I was asked to be when both were born." Belle shrieked indignantly, and Alan glanced over to find Liam spitting water at his sister.

"What happened?" Alan asked, turning back to Isabel. The wind seemed to hush for a moment, and the trees stopped swaying. It appeared as if the woods was waiting for an answer as well. Isabel's green eyes became shadowed, and there was such sorrow on her face that Alan instinctively reached out and took her hand in his own, wanting to comfort her in any way he could.

Her startled glance at the unexpected comfort caused him to loosen his grip, but it was she who tightened it again. She sighed and continued, every word that dropped from her lips coated with razor-sharp pain that clearly radiated from a wound that she hadn't healed from.

"They were both stricken with the Old Ones Fever," Isabel told him quietly, her eyes never moving from the playful children, oblivious to their life history being told. "It took my Nevina first, followed by her dear Darrow. They had made me promise to care for their children if something happened to them, and I swore it willingly, believing that they would recover. That was not the case," she murmured softly, reaching one shaking hand to smooth out her gown, a nervous reflex, "and I found myself with two children to raise."

"I love them as my own," she told him, turning to face him, her voice thick with emotion, "but I could not bear to take them up to the castle. That place holds its share of painful memories for myself, and I could not burden the children with the ghosts of those memories that linger. Besides," Isabel continued, "I could not take them from the place they had been raised, from the place they knew so well. So I come to see them every few days and care for them as often as I can, having food delivered when I can not come, and bringing it myself when I can."

Seeing Alan's brown eyes holding her own, she stared at the grass beneath her skirts, blushing. "I know it is not the proper way to raise children," she said softly, remembering belatedly that Alan had a son, "but it is all I can give them."

Alan nodded, understanding her dilemma. She tried to care for them, but with suitors constantly paying court, how could she raise them properly? Something warm enveloped his chest, and it took him a second to identify it: admiration. He respected this lady to some extent, but his admiration for her at this moment was stronger. He missed his son, but if he couldn't be with his son, he would help her raise these children properly as long as he stayed in honor of his absent son. He had already warmed to them; now they needed to warm up to him.

A nagging thought occurred to him every since Belle's strange reaction to his presence. "Isabel," he asked softly, touching her sleeve, "why did the children react the way they did to me?"

Isabel averted her gaze, biting her lip. Why did he have to ask the one question she did not want to answer? Feeling his gaze on her, she lifted her eyes to his and took a deep breath, feeling fear and anxiety beating a tattoo inside her breast. She didn't know how he would take what she felt she needed to tell him. He had been with her only a few days, but she felt herself trusting him more and more, a thing she knew she would regret later.

Fear and hope warring within her, she took a deep breath and told him. "The children knew their father for only a short while; Belle had barely reached five summers and William was a babe in arms when Nevina and Darrow passed on to the Realms of the Old Ones. You are the first man to accompany me in their short lives."

Turning away, she accepted a soaking Belle's entreaties to come play in the creek bed, leaving a stunned Alan in her wake. He was still reeling from what Isabel had told him. If what she had told him was true--and the hesitance on her face told him that it was--than he was the only suitor that she had ever deemed worthy to meet the children, if the maids' gossip at the estate was to be trusted. He stared after her, unsure of what he had done to deserve what was clearly an honor.

He shook himself and joined Isabel at the edge of the creek bank. Belle and Liam, now thoroughly soaked, had once again begun a water fight, and their shrieks were putting the birds to shame.

"William Lassa!" Belle cried, planting her hands on her hips and staring at her brother accusingly. "You got my hair wet 'apurpose!"

"Din't neither!" The little boy shot back, sinking into the waters and paddling downstream, away from his pouting sister. Alan marveled at the young child's agility in water, and then watched in amusement as Isabel waded into the creek and plucked him from the water.

"That is enough for one day, young master." She told him firmly, but her smile at his pouting ruined the effect. Seeing that she wasn't truly cross, Liam attempted to beg, but then he yawned and began to shiver, his green eyes starting to close.

Isabel carried him over to the largest patch of sunlight that the foliage would allow in the dappled awning and sat down, resting him on her slightly damp and sun-warmed skirts. Liam curled closer to her stomach and planted his thumb in his mouth, muttering to himself.

Alan looked down at Belle, who was still standing resolutely in the water, watching him stubbornly as the cold water rushed around her feet. He crouched down and extended his arms to her, the same way he had coaxed his son to him on numerous occasions.

"Come on, young miss," he called to her softly, "it's long past time for you to be napping."

She stared at him, and her chin jutted forward, resisting his charms. "N-not wanting to nap-p." She stuttered resolutely even as she yawned heavily and began to shiver as a breeze whipped through her thin, soaked dress.

"Come along." Alan murmured again, and this time she did come willingly, if reluctantly, to his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pillowing her cheek on his shoulder as he picked her up. Alan grimaced as his wounded shoulder protested the extra weight, but since Belle only weighed a stone more than his son, he ignored the pain.

He carried her over to where Isabel cradled a sleeping Liam, and carefully sat down. He moved to put Belle down, but she wouldn't release him. She clung to him like a vine, so instead of putting her down in the grass, he cradled her in his arms, resting on his lap. For a moment, the memory of his son in his arms made his eyes sting with unshed tears, but he blinked them away.

Glancing over at Isabel, he watched the sun cast dappled shadows on her skin, and her chestnut curls contained golden glints he hadn't noticed before. He saw her eyelids blink more and more in an effort to stay awake, and he could feel his own growing heavy.

Suddenly, her warm body was pressed against his uninjured side, and he looked over to find her green eyes fluttering closed in sleep. Easing them both down to the grass, Alan stretched beside her, readjusting the sleeping children so they wouldn't be uncomfortable. The stream burbled a soothing watery lullaby, and the trees swayed with a shushing movement muted by the wind. Comfortable and warmed by the sun, it didn't take long for Alan to find sleep as well.

* * *

"Child, you need to eat!" Marnie Tredan urged the stubborn young boy in front of her.

Lucas Rial shook his head and looked up at her with pleading green eyes, setting his chin stubbornly at the bowl in front of him. "Auntie Marn, I know there's something wrong with Papa! Can't we go see him?"

Marnie shook her head, putting the spoon down and wishing for the hundredth time that Alan had told her where he was going. She knew it was King's Thief business, and she knew that he had ridden east, but there was nothing else. Lath--the Old Ones curse that crafty fox!--had refused to tell her, which did nothing to put him in her good graces.

She worried for her nephew. Lucas had taken this journey harder than all the others his father had gone on, somehow convinced with childlike certainty that his father would not return. For the last seven days, he had been inconsolable. Night terrors had sent her to his screaming bedside every night since she had been taking care of him, and recently, he had stopped eating.

"Pet, you have to eat!" She told him, exasperated and shaking her head at his stubbornness. Her blue eyes were weary as she surveyed the child across from her. She didn't know what else to do.

"There's something wrong with Papa!" The young boy insisted again, his sandy hair flopping into his eyes as he nodded vigorously, convinced he was right. "How many suns 'til he comes home?" He demanded, his green eyes insistent.

Marnie sighed and picked up the spoon, managing to get a mouthful of porridge in while his mouth hung open, awaiting an answer. He glared at her, but under her own imposing stare, he obediently swallowed.

"Seven more suns." She answered wearily, just as she had when he had asked it earlier that morning.

Lucas wilted at this news, hoping his father was coming sooner, and Marnie was struck with an idea.

"Listen pet," she said quietly, leaning across the table, her blonde hair brushing the warped wood. "If your father isn't back by the time he says he is, we'll go to Captain Lath and make him tell us. Then we'll go find him!"

Lucas brightened considerably at this plan, nodding enthusiastically. "And then Papa will come home!" He crowed, jumping off his stool to give his aunt a hug before running back to scoop porridge into his mouth as fast as he possibly could, splashing lumps of oatmeal all over the table. In a minute, he was done, and he quickly raced off to play with the new litter of kittens, leaving his aunt sitting stonily at the table.

Marnie cradled her head in her hands. Despite her best efforts, some of the child's fears had gotten to her. What if there was something truly wrong? She sighed and stared out the window that the bright spring day, wishing she had more answers. Where was her brother?

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**A/N: Marnie and Lucas will have to wait a little while longer to see Alan, I'm afraid. What did you think? Reviews are appreciated!**


	7. Chapter 6: Clouds on the Horizon

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter 6! I'm posting this after getting home from a family reunion, so if there are more typos than usual, I apologize. I tried to catch them. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. We see a different side of Alan, and yes, there is Alan/Isabel fluff. Thanks to all my reviewers, and please enjoy!**

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Chapter 6: Clouds on the Horizon

The sunlight danced on the waves of the Eastern Gate of the World. Heavy clouds hid the horizon, but it almost appeared that if one was to get in a ship and sail towards the horizon, they would find the Eastern Continent waiting for them just beyond that cloud bank. The sunlight bounced off the foaming crests and glittering troughs, inviting all to come play in its warmed depths. Far-off dolphins arched and danced, adding to the beauty of the landscape.

Alan Rial stood on the sands, staring at those far off cloud banks, seeing through them to the Eastern Continent. His mission. He touched his chest, where the letter had resided with him in the ten suns he had been here. True to his word, he had not removed it from his person unless he went bathing in the sea. When he did, he hid it so the inquisitive and nosy maids would not seek it out and read it.

He had a mission to complete, but his injured shoulder had tied him here longer than was necessary. The sooner he completed his mission, the sooner he could be back with his son, where he belonged. He risked a glance back at the castle that sat imposingly on the sheer cliff above him.

Isabel. Did he dare leave her? He shook himself. What was he thinking? He was not her suitor, nor would he ever be; he had sought out this place for shelter and nothing more. His injured shoulder twinged in reminder, but he ignored it. In a few days, he would be healthy enough to travel, and he intended to board the first boat heading across the Eastern Gate to the Eastern Continent. He had already wasted enough time here, healing from an injured that had been from his own self-confident folly. If he hadn't pushed his horse to the path after dark, he would not have been injured by the those bandits. His mission would be complete, and he would be back in the capital with his son with Lath's approval and the King's appreciation.

But what of Isabel? Alan's mind turned once again to the lady of the manor, and he growled curses to himself, his mind and spirit in upheaval. His mission was not here, but he felt that he owed her something for the care and slowly blooming friendship she had given him. He had to repay her somehow, but he could not stay here forever.

Alan glanced at the horizon again, his mind made up. He would leave in two suns' time. It was long past his time to go. He had promised his son to be back in a fortnight, and he would do so. That was a promise he could keep.

Alan returned from his afternoon musings on the beach to find Isabel and several maids cleaning his rooms.

"Am I to be replaced so easily?" He asked lightly, leaning against the doorframe. Immediately, he knew he had said the wrong thing. The maids froze, exchanging worried looks behind their mistress' back, and Isabel stiffened as if he had accused her of a crime.

"Isabel?" Alan asked as he stepped farther into the room, concerned by her reaction. Isabel still refused to turn to face him as he came up behind her. Alan placed a hand on the small of her back, confused by her silence. At the warm touch, Isabel finally turned to look up at him.

"Your room is being prepared for its next occupant." Isabel informed him stiffly, as coldly as she had when Alan had first arrived so many days ago. She pulled away from his touch as if unable to bear it anymore, leaving a worried Alan in her wake. He followed her across the room as she moved to supervise the maids' tasks uselessly.

"Isabel, what has happened?" He asked, her words finally registering in his bewildered mind. "What suitor?"

Isabel was clearly loathe to tell him anything, as she turned, and, avoiding all eye contact, tried to leave the room. Alan, all too familiar with this route of escape, easily blocked her way. Thwarted, Isabel had no choice but to look at him, and what Alan saw there only increased his worry.

Red-rimmed as if she'd been crying, Isabel's green eyes were as cold and emotionless as the first day he'd met her. Gone was the warm glow he saw when she found something that pleased her; gone was that flash of mirth when she found something amusing. The darkness of her pupils seemed to expand, overtaking any color in her irises, and Alan was left looking into a hollow emptiness.

"My father has ordered that I entertain another suitor." The information was told expressionlessly, and Alan felt his blood run cold.

"When?" He asked sharply, and Isabel looked up from where she had been studying the folds of her gown as if they were the answer to everything.

A glimmer of confusion replaced the hollow emptiness as she replied, "Tonight."

"Alama told you this." It wasn't really a question; both knew that the woman was the village's head gossip and the closest thing Wynclyff had to a message system. Isabel nodded, confirming his suspicions, the confusion and puzzlement almost overtaking the black enlarged pupils, the gold flecks shimmering for an instant on the green irises.

Alan nodded curtly, his questions answered and his plan of action clear. Abruptly he turned to leave, but Isabel's hand on his arm stopped him with one foot into the corridor. Turning back, his gaze no longer sharp and promising murder, he drew her close, allowing her to lean against his chest, pillowing his cheek on the crown of her head. He felt her relax, curling her hands into two fists, clutching his freshly washed shirt. It wasn't until he felt wet heat seep through the front of his shirt that he realized she was crying.

Alan shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. Crying women were not his forté, but even though his first instinct was to flee from the room and leave Isabel alone, he stayed where he was. He may have not understood Isabel's trepidation to the full extent, but he understood that the suitors were never welcome guest. Wrapping his arms around Isabel's slim and shaking frame, Alan fought back a sudden wave of fury and protectiveness that surprised himself. Why should he care if Isabel entertained another suitor? It wasn't if he was a suitor himself.

Breathing in Isabel's unique scent of wildflowers and sea spray, Alan forced himself to calm down and think with a solider's intelligence. He needed to repay Isabel in some way, but he also didn't want to leave her vulnerable. His need to follow orders, complete his mission and return to his son warred with his newfound need to protect Isabel, to repay her for all she had done for him.

Suddenly inspired, Alan gently disentangled himself from Isabel, realizing that his shirt was soaked through. Isabel backed away, clearly embarrassed by that moment of vulnerability, She wiped hurriedly at her eyes, but one stray tear stll lingered. Alan gently brushed it away, failing to notice Isabel's blush and the way she stiffened when his fingertips brushed and against the skin of her cheek.

"I have some business in the village." He told her, and without waiting for a reply, all too eager to put his plan into action, he left the room. Isabel stared after him, confused and feeling suddenly bereft.

* * *

Alan stepped into the bakery with an air of urgency that quickly pervaded the entire establishment. The bakery maids--who often loved to compete with each other for the chance to serve the handsome man from the castle--took one look and fled into the kitchens.

Even Jemma looked nervous as he approached the counter, and called hurriedly into the recesses of the bakery, "Ma! His Lordship's here to see you!"

Alan rolled his eyes at the title and ignored it. Alama appeared from the shadows of the bread room, covered in flour and bits of dough. She looked delighted at the idea of Alan's arrival, but, after catching sight of his face, was suddenly brusque.

"Your Lordship?" She asked briskly, her brow creased in concern. "Is something wrong?"

"The suitor." Alan spoke through a clenched jaw. "Who is he?"

Alama brushed the wisps of hair that had escaped her bun out of her face and glanced dubiously at her daughter. Jemma took the silent hint and melted back into the shadows of the kitchens.

Reassured that they were alone, Alama leaned towards Alan, her voice hushed. "His name is Sir Rynfell of Sinayc, and he has long pestered the great lord to let him pursue the lady." Alama's eyes darkened as she told Alan all she knew. "He is known to use women and leave them helpless."

Alan's blood boiled, and his hand stole to his sword. "Where is he?" He growled, his voice low and grating as he ground it out from between clenched teeth.

Alama's knowing gaze had followed his movments towards his sword, and her eyes flashed as she figured out what the lord had planned. "It is said he cannot be too far from the village," she responded slowly. Her gaze sharpened and she abruptly closed her mouth, tight-lipped as suspicion caused her to scruntinize the man across from her closely.

"You will protect her?" The question was more of a demand than a request, sharply spoken as her sympathic gaze morphed to a glare. Alan was about to retort just as sharply, exasperated and annoyed by the seemingly ridiculous question, but the naked fear in the older woman's eyes stopped him. Alama was asking out of fear for Isabel, out of the fear that he would be like all the suitors who had left the lady of the village grieving.

"With my life." He told her quietly, surprising himself with how much he meant it. He clearly startled Alama with his sincerity, for she stared at him for a few seconds before continuing with the last of her information.

"He was spotted in the Taglegaurd Forest just before midday, according to the man that hunts the game for my sister's inn…"

Alan was out the door before she had finished her sentence.

* * *

Alan still had not returned. Isabel was curled up in the library attempting to read a book, but to no avail. Her mind kept returning to Alan, and she could only read a page of the giant tome in her lap before getting up and pacing to the window. She stared into the darkness, but the rain that had started just before sundown made it impossible to see anything in the courtyard below, or even the gates beyond.

Isabel whirled around as she heard the library doors open, hope fluttering wildy in her chest even as she thought herself a fool for it. That quickly died as Matilda came in. The maid grimaced when she saw the visible disappointment on her mistress' face, but delivered the message she had been entrusted with.

"A messenger to see you, Your Ladyship."

Isabel watched disinterestedly as a boy not past ten summers edged into the room, clearly nervous at being in the presence of nobility. He was shaking, his blonde hair made darker by the sweat that plastered to his head. His blue eyes were terrified, and he watched his surroundings warily, as if the books were lying in wait to leap out and attack him at any moment.

"Take a seat." Isabel gestured to a wooden stool that she normally used as a footrest. The boy sank down gratefully, holding his head in his hands.

When all he did was shake, Isabel grew impatient. "Your message?" She asked tersely. The boy's head flew up, his eyes wide as his face grew pale.

"I c-c-ame to w-w-warn you, Ladyship," he croaked, his hands shaking as he knotted them together.

"Warn me?" Isabel asked, raising one dark eyebrow, nonplussed.

The boy nodded emphatically, taking a drink out of the goblet of water that Matilda had supplied him with. "I'm to give you a warning from me master about the madman that attacked us."

"Madman?" Isabel asked, skepticism now evident in every line of her body. She watched the boy, but she was listening for the sound of hoof beats, of any call that would signify Alan's return.

The boy nodded again and wiped his mouth on his sleeve as water dribbled down his chin. "He came out of the woods, screaming war cries with his eyes full of devil-fire! He charged my master and cut him down, telling my lord that he would not allow harm to come to Lady Isabel." The boy stared up at her with large eyes and continued, seeing her curiosity. He warmed to his tale, seeing that he had an audience.

"Milord spat back that the Lady Isabel would always be his, and the man seemed right angry at that. He turned and left the same way he had come, and none of the man would touch him, 'cause he had taken the master, and they din't know what to do with theirselves."

Lady Isabel watched the boy and realized that she was the one who was shaking. "Who is your master?" She asked, although she was sure she knew. With dread, she remembered that there was only one man she had ever met that had tried to claim her.

The boy puffed up with pride at the thought of his master, even though the man's soul was well on its way to the Realms of the Old Ones. "He is the great Sir Rynfell of Sinayc, Lady." He told her eagerly as Isabel's heart sank.

"Oh!" The boy cried suddenly, straightening up with importance as he remembered the rest of his message. "My master told me as he was gasping for breath like a fish that if he passed on to the Realms that Lady Isabel would remain c-c-ch--" He fumbled over a word he clearly didn't understand.

"Chaste?" Isabel supplied, her voice shaking with fear and rage. Rynfell hadn't changed since she last saw him, then. He would still try to take what he wanted and not care if he left her miserable.

The messenger nodded, relieved. "That. My master hopes you'll hold yourself c-chaste until he sees you 'gain in the Realms." He beamed up at Isabel, happy to deliver such an important message, but the lady did not share his joy.

She turned away from him, blinking back tears of fear, shame and relief as old memories swamped her. "You have done well," she told him formally and woodenly, as she must. She didn't see the boy beam, or hop off his stool and race out the door again, exulted by her praise. She was too lost remembering when she had last seen Rynfell, the reason for her exile.

_"You are mine." The young man hissed as he towered over the slight young girl, who was no more than thirteen summers. "Mine." _

_"Sir," the girl responded tremulously, "we are not betrothed. I cannot be yours. My father has not willed it." _

_The man gave a rough chuckle and pressed closer, backing the young girl against the wall. "Oh, he gave his consent, Isabel," he told her, using her given name without permission. "We are to be wed before the full moon, and you are mine." _

_The girl opened her mouth in soundless horror. She may not know everything about marriage, but she was certain that a betrothal had to be made--her sister had taught her that crucial step. She had been to no betrothal ceremony, and while she knew her father would not care about her opinion, she couldn't believe that he would just give her away. _

_Young Rynfell reached for the waistline of her gown, pulling her to him, crushing her against his chest. "One kiss," he whispered sickly-sweet against her ear, his breath smelling of ale. "One little kiss to show your love for me." His lips sought hers, but Isabel twisted away, whimpering in fright. She lashed out blindly, catching Rynfell on the chin, and he backed up a step, clutching his face. _

_Given the space, Isabel backed away from him as quickly as she could, sobbing quietly. She didn't understand what she had done to have him force himself on her. Confused and frightened, she watched as Rynfell cursed and advanced again, and Isabel froze like a trapped rabbit, convinced that he would hurt her and paralyzed by fear. _

_"Rynfell!" The commanding voice came from behind Isabel, and the girl turned, her knees almost giving out in relief. Her older sister Catrina rushed up the corridor, murder in her blue eyes. Her hair was unbound, and her dark skirts gave her the look of a human storm, ready to destroy all it touched. _

_"Have you no honor?" The question whipped between them, and Rynfell turned away as if it had physically stung him. Even though at fifteen, Rynfell was the same height as Catrina, the woman was five years older and the lord's favorite. If he struck her, his life would be on the line. _

_"She was promised to me," he told her hotly, glaring at where Isabel had taken refuge at her sister's side, convinced that Catrina could protect her from everything. _

_Catrina curled her arm around her youngest sister's frame, feeling the girl shaking under her arm. "You have no honor and no decency." She hissed, incensed at the idea that this boy would try to claim her sister in such a way. "You will never have her." She spoke with such conviction that Isabel looked up, immediately believing it. If Catrina said that Rynfell wouldn't have her, then he wouldn't. She sighed happily. She was safe. _

_Rynfell, however, would not be robbed of his prize so easily. "You will be mine someday." He told Isabel, trying to intimidate her by stepping forward. Catrina let him get two more steps closer before her hand lashed out and connected with his cheek. Stumbling back a step, Rynfell stared in shock. Had she just struck him? _

_Catrina turned away, her arm firmly around Isabel. "Come along, my little swan," she whispered soothingly. "Let us leave the company of such men." Isabel nodded emphatically, more than willing to go. _

_Rynfell glared at their retreating backs and rubbed his stinging cheek gingerly. Isabel would be his one day, even if he had to wait until he entered the Realms of the Old Ones to find her. _

* * *

Alan dismounted in the pouring rain and turned to find a confused Thomas and a worried Jonathan coming towards him. He plucked a cloth from the saddle that the groom had just lifted from his sweat-lathered mount in order to wipe off the blood-coated blade that he carried with him.

"Bandits, Your Lordship?" Thomas asked anxiously, eyeing the bloody blade. Jonathan merely tightened his hand on his blade and looked around warily, as if he expected the bandits to be lying in wait in the courtyard.

"No," Alan replied calmly, although his shaking hands gave away his exhaustion and whirling mind. "I was dispatching a suitor who would do more harm to the lady."

Both men stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to tell them that it was all just a marvelous joke. When he continued to clean his blade and said nothing, shaking out the blood-soaked cloth, both faces paled.

"I'm s-sorry Your Lordship," Thomas stuttered, his eyes dark in his pale face and his hair plastered to his head from the pouring rain. "Y-you dispatched a suitor?"

Jonathan, who had seen the amount of blood on the blade and knew how much blood was released in a death-blow, stared at Alan reproachfully. "You should not have done that, Your Lordship." He said solemnly. "The great lord himself sends those suitors, and he don't take kindly to the likes of you killing them off when they are meant for his daughter's hand."

Alan looked at him placidly and sheathed his sword, but his eyes held a hint of steel and blood. "I will not let harm come to the lady while I am here," he told them quietly, "I owe her that much for the services she has given me."

The two servants parted incredulously as Alan stalked stiffly into the castle, intent on getting out of his bloody and rain-soaked clothes.

* * *

Isabel turned as the doors to the library creaked open. Over the course of the night, the fire had died down, and now the doors were in shadow, making it impossible to see who was entering. She wiped the tears from her eyes, glad the shadows near the window hid her.

The man walked quietly into the room and knelt before the fire, poking it and bringing it back to life. As the fire blazed again, casting out a little more light and heat, Isabel could clearly see the face of the man who had entered, his face illuminated by the candlelight and fresh flames.

Alan.

She gasped, so sure that the man was Rynfell, coming to claim her at last. Alan heard her noise and whirled around to face it, his hand automatically stealing to a sword he no longer wore. (He had left it in his rooms along with is bloody clothes. He remembered how Isabel reacted to blood.) He straightened as he saw her melt out of the shadows, her emerald gown wrinkled from sitting so long, her green eyes glinting in the candlelight with unshed tears.

Two steps more and she was resting against his chest, her body wracked with silent sobs. Alan found that his arms automatically wrapped around her, pillowing his chin on her hair. No water seeped into his clean shirt, and Alan thanked the Old Ones that she wasn't crying again.

"What have you done?" Isabel asked, drawing her head away from his chest and peering up into his face, as if searching for the mark of some terrible crime.

Alan brushed the tumbled chestnut curls out of her face. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

Isabel seemed stricken speechless at this fact, for she buried her head back in his chest and rested against him, sighing in quiet relief. Alan was here and Rynfell was gone. Feeling warm and comforted, she listened to the thump of his heart under her ear, lulling her with its security.

"Where is Rynfell?" She asked him, lifting her face to his once again. Alan's gaze became shadowed, and he looked into the gloomy depths of the library, trying ignore the sudden pain in his chest at hearing her use the knight's given name.

"Gone to the Realms of the Old Ones." There was no remorse in his voice, only pure steel and hatred.

Isabel said nothing, resting her forehead on his shoulder. Then her relief at being free from one suitor for all time washed over her, and she began to cry.

Alan froze. She was crying again. With a sinking heart, he made the only connection: Rynfell had been her lover.

Turning away, he pulled out her grasp and took three steps towards the fire, staring at the flames. "I apologize for killing your lover."

That sentence alone stopped Isabel mid-sob. "Lover?" She repeated incredulously, but Alan only heard a pain-choked sob. The muscles of his back tensed as she went and placed a hand on his good shoulder, wondering why he wouldn't look at her.

"Alan, he wasn't my lover."

Alan heard the truth in her voice but didn't want to believe it. Her hand remained on her back, and finally he turned, needing to see if it was true. Her green eyes glowed up at him, and he saw the sincerity that glimmered there. A bitter smile also twisted her lips, but that was familiar to him; besides the true smile she gave to Belle and Liam, it was the only smile he ever saw.

"He was the reason I am imprisoned here."

"What?" Alan growled, now wishing he had tortured the man before killing him.

Isabel stared at him and then turned away, wondering why she trusting him. He had just killed a suitor for her, true, but he could just be killing the competition for his own gain. No, something in her whispered, he would not do that. He had stayed longer than any suitor, and he had yet to try to take advantage of her.

"He wronged me," she said flatly. "My father saw it as a wrong on my part, and sent me away."

Isabel startled as warm arms wrapped around her from behind. Unused to such a position, she leaned back gingerly, wincing slightly as her head collided with Alan's solid chest. It was comforting, this position, this feeling of being held and secure. The warmth of Alan's chest felt good against her back, and she leaned into him. His arms tightened around her in response, but instead of evoking feelings of panic as it would if any other man had touched her, she felt safe.

Turning slightly to see his face, she was surprised to see the same peacefulness of his face. He gazed down at her, occasionally running his fingers through her hair gently, calmly, as if she was an animal who would bolt if he spooked her. She nestled against him, her face now pressed against his shoulder.

The feel of his lips on her forehead brought her out of that peace quickly, every nerve on fire and every sense on alert. She automatically stiffened, and he felt her body resist as she held herself ready to flee. Realizing he had scared her and her reaction was to run, he slipped his hand under her chin, bringing her terrified gaze to his.

"I will never hurt you." He promised solemnly, surprised that the words came so easily and so sincerely. Underneath his arm, he felt her body relax slightly, and she nodded, trusting him even though there was still some doubt in her green eyes.

Backing out of his grip, Isabel tried to keep her body from shaking. She believed Alan when he promised he would never hurt her, even though a part of her told her that she would regret trusting him later. While her mind believed him, her body was so used to resisting a man's touch that it was hard to let him hold her. The feel of his lips on her skin had awoken feelings she hadn't felt for a long time, but she couldn't let him have more than that. Ten years of resisting men who were sent by her father for the purpose of marrying her was hard to break, and she felt her heart beginning to harden again.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to give Alan a smile, to tell him it was all right, but her body's instinct to flee was taking over, and she could barely refrain herself from running out of the library. Steadying herself, she reached up and brushed her lips against his cheek--the first sign of affection she had shown a man in over ten years.

Pleased by her ability to control herself and trust him, Isabel smiled at Alan, who was staring at her, surprised.

"Sleep calls to me." She told him, trying to conceal her need to get out of the room by taking brisk steps to the doors. On the threshold, she felt more secure with space between them, and she turned back to him, suddenly grateful for all he had done for her this night.

"May the Old Ones guard your dreams." Isabel murmured to the man that stood before the fire, watching her. Her gaze turned serious, and she murmured, so low he almost didn't hear her, "And may the Old Ones bless you for the service you have done me this night." Then she was gone.

"May the Old Ones give you pleasant dreams." Alan called after her, pleased that she had thanked him. Although, that shy kiss planted on his cheek was more than enough thanks. He stared after her, suddenly tired and sinking into an armchair, still warm and smelling of Isabel's unique scent.

When he had gone charging off to challenge Sir Rynfell earlier that day, he had thought fleetingly of his son, and his mission, and the disappointment they would feel when he didn't return. But foremost on his mind was Isabel and the children, little Belle and Liam, who wouldn't understand when their beloved Lady Bell stopped coming because she was trying to protect them from a man that would not understand her need to care for the children.

Alan shook his head. He should not be here. True, he had repaid his debt to Isabel on this night and was free to leave, but something was compelling him to stay. He felt a true attachment to Isabel, and while his shoulder was well enough to hold together during a sword fight, Alan still felt the need to stay.

Isabel was hiding something, he was sure. A secret that caused her pain and caused her strange moods. He understood her aversion to men to some extent, and was glad that she hadn't fully shut him out.

He stared at the fire, confused and torn. Images of Lucas, Marnie and Lath warred with images of Isabel, Belle and Liam. Memories of his missions for the king and memories of his peaceful suns here warred within him.

In the end, as he stood and walked out of the library, banking the fire as he went, he had made his choice. He was a soldier first, father and friend second. He would leave in two suns' time.

* * *

**A/N: Alan's had his chance as a knight in shining armor, and even though Isabel's grateful, he knows where he should be, as much as it pains him to leave. Stay tuned for the next chapter!**


	8. Chapter 7: Family in Name Alone

**A/N: Welcome to what has to be one of the longest chapters I've ever written. Originally, this chapter was supposed to be broken up into several parts, but it all worked so well together and helped move the plot along that I left it all together. There is more Alan/Isabel fluffiness in this chapter, for all of you that are waiting for their relationship to pick up. Thanks to all my reviewers, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 7: Family in Name Alone

Isabel sat curled in her favorite armchair, golden sunlight streaming through the glass windows in the library to cover the book she was currently reading. It was a collection of folk and faery tales done by a long ago historian, and she enjoyed reading them from time to time. She had intended to go see the children this morning, but Alan was still sleeping, and the children would be unhappy if she came without him. The sun before, the children had worn Alan out with their games, and he was now sleeping off the pain his injured shoulder was still causing him.

Matilda entered the library without knocking, a paper clutched firmly in hand. "Your Ladyship," she murmured, dipping a quick curtsey before approaching her mistress, offering the paper, "a letter for you."

Isabel let the book slide onto her lap and picked up the letter, curious. Curiosity turned to delight as she recognized the handwriting of her older sister Catrina, and she quickly tore it open. Her sister hadn't sent her a letter in over a fortnight, and it often contained the only news Isabel ever received about the rest of her family. She didn't notice Matilda withdraw from the library quietly. She was far too engrossed in the missive in front of her.

_My dear sister, _

_It has been a long time since we have last spoken, or indeed, even sent word to each other. It has been my fault on both accounts. My Saraihi is keeping me almost too busy to spend time with my beloved Raphael or send word to you. Along with looking after the young one still resting in my womb, I have had barely a moment to call my own. I miss you, my little swan, and I hope that life at Mother's "little port in the storm" has not isolated you from the way of others too much. I have heard that the villagers are welcoming and protective, and I hope you find some solace in them as well. _

_Father has informed me that he has been sending suitors regularly. I beg him to stop on your behalf, knowing what such a situation must be doing to you, but you know him. He is stubborn. _

Isabel snorted. "Stubborn" barely began to describe their father. She read on:

_By your last visit, you showed that those suitors have not killed your spirit or beaten the fight from you. Is there one suitor that has caught your fancy? Is there any man that has managed to find your company pleasurable enough and has survived for more than a few suns in your home? _

Isabel glared at the parchment, then smiled. Just like her sister to teasingly wonder if any man had decided to stay.

_We miss you here in our "paradise," as my darling Raphael has named it. My dear Saraihi is always asking after you, asking for you, and wondering if you could stay with us. As much as I have tried to explain to her that your place is there, she will not be swayed. The darling child insists that you must miss us as much as we miss you, and I often wonder if she is right. _

_So, my dear little swan, my request is this: Come to our paradise the following sun of the one in which you receive this letter. My child misses you, and to be sure, I do as well. My unborn son has yet to meet his youngest auntie, and I wish for him to know your voice when he is still in the womb. If you care to, bring the suitor that has graced your home, or if there is no suitor, come to us with only yourself. We will always accept you, no matter if you bring a man or not. _

_Will you consent? I eagerly await your reply, but if it is to be a surprise visit, so be it. Saraihi will be most delighted what ever the path you choose, and I hope to see your lovely face again. I miss you, my little swan. _

_Adam sends his regards. He visited our home just two suns ago, bringing his lovely wife and his six tumbling youngsters, who were delightful play friends for Saraihi, who is impatiently awaiting the arrival of her own little play friend. _

_Beatrice no longer writes as often as she once did, and I worry for her. Her husband is known for visiting other women, and I know that she is not happy. _

_Diana is happy with her paramour, as content as she can be when she lives in constant fear of her suitor leaving her. I have seen her but once this turn of the moon, but as always, she was full of stories of the fights she and her knight get into and then mend almost as quickly. _

_Ernest is taking his turn as a knight in the king's capital, and he visits Adam more than he visits Raphael and I, but he seems happy. His wandering knight life has made him content, and he seems kinder than he was in our childhood. _

_Fredrick is happy in the far west, managing his estates and expecting his first child. He and his wife are hoping for a son, but the Old Ones grant children as they will. I myself believe it will be a boy, but as I have one in my womb, I cannot be trusted on such matters. _

_Graham is keeping Ernest in check while they stay in the capital. He has become a knight as well, but he seems to be promoted more than Ernest, perhaps because he knows the value of hard work. He asks after you, inquiring if you have found a husband. He says that if you haven't, he knows many knights in the capital that would willingly marry a young, rich noblewoman near the sea. _

_Ignore him, my little swan. His words mean no harm, and they have little sting. He merely looks after your welfare, as we all have since you were born. I repeat my request to you once again, as you might have forgotten it in the tide of all the family news. Will you come and dine at our table the sun following this missive, and bring any suitor with you? Saraihi would be delighted to see you again, and my heart would beat easier, knowing you were well. _

_Always your devoted sister, _

_Catrina Mortanisa_

Isabel was smiling brightly when she finished the letter. The way Catrina mentioned her daughter so many times in a single missive meant that she was attempting to lure Isabel to her home, knowing her sister's love for her daughter. Isabel traced Catrina's soft handwriting. It had been four turns of the moon since she had last seen her sister, but it felt like four lifetimes. While she loved Wynclyff, she missed her family. She reread the news her sister had included about their siblings, all older than she.

How she missed them: Adam, the oldest and her elder by over a decade; Beatrice, her eldest sister that married early and unhappily due to their father's orders; Catrina, her beloved sister who had married for love and now lived happily with her precocious daughter; Ernest, her brother who was too fond of women; Fredrick, content with his wife in the west, raising his crops; and Graham, the closest to her in age and her childhood play friend, still teasing.

Isabel reread the invitation and felt her smile bloom again. She was not one to pass up a chance to see her sister or her darling niece. She read her sister's urgings about a suitor and felt her heart sink. She had no suitor, and only Alan stayed with her now. Alan? The thought struck her, and she lifted her head, wondering. Alan knew the children--perhaps he would not be adverse to visiting her sister. Isabel picked up the blank sheet of parchment Catrina had thoughtful included for a response. Scribbling something down quickly, she sent it off at once with Thomas. It was a full sun's ride south to Catrina's home, and Isabel knew her sister would want as much time to prepare as possible. Settling back into her chair, Isabel once again pondered the idea of Alan's answer. Picking up her neglected book, she turned to a different story. She really must ask him.

* * *

"Liam!"

Belle's screech was enough to put every forest hawk and eagle to shame, and Isabel winced, her ears ringing. A laugh next to her caused her to turn, and she found Alan teasing and tickling the little girl from behind with a stray sparrow feather.

A small red, soaked head popped up a few feet away, green eyes wide. Liam, confused and bewildered at the sound of being scolded for something he didn't remember doing, clambered out of the creek. He rushed over to his sister's side, stopping short as he saw Alan as the culprit. Wearing a crafty smile that would put a fox to shame, he crept up behind the man.

Isabel said nothing, watching in amusement as Liam stalked the bigger man through the grass, his green eyes never leaving their target. Alan, engrossed with making Belle squeal and giggle indignantly as she discovered her true tormentor, didn't notice the small danger behind him.

Uttering something that sounded similar to a wildcat's scream, Liam launched himself at his prey. Surprised at the unexpected--and sopping--weight on his back, Alan fell forward, his hands flying out to brace his fall. The sparrow feather floated to the ground, and Belle, relieved of her torment, turned to Alan, giggling.

"I'm comin' to get you, Sir Alan!" She cried, flying her brother's aid and clawing her way to Alan's shoulders where she sat proudly, digging her heels into his ribs. Backing up carefully, not wanting to send them all tumbling into the creek, Alan raised himself to his knees, dislodging the children as he did so. With delighted shrieks, they tumbled to the soft grass below them, bouncing back up again and re-attacking him with vengeance.

"Help would be most appreciated, Isabel!" Alan grunted as Liam landed solidly on his stomach, knocking the wind from him.

Isabel did nothing of the sort, deigning rather to stretch out on her stomach, her skirts spread modestly around her and prop her head in her hands, surveying the scene with obvious amusement.

"I rather like this fight," she commented, grinning cheekily as Alan growled something that didn't sound at all like a blessing in her direction and grabbed Belle around the waist, spinning her harmlessly to the side.

"Me! Me!" Liam called excitedly, bouncing up to Alan and begging to be spun. Alan complied, and soon the children were staggering around the clearing, their steps wobbling as the world whirled uncertainly around them.

Exhausted, they flopped down beside Isabel and soon fell asleep. Tired by their antics, Alan sunk down beside Isabel, who pushed herself up to a sitting position and leaned against him companionably. Surprised but nonetheless pleased by the sudden touch, Alan wrapped his arm gently around her waist, and she did not object.

"Alan," came her quiet tones, turning her face to his. He brushed the curls that stuck to her cheeks away from her face, failing to notice when she blushed, attributing it to the heat.

"Will go with me the following sun and visit my sister?"

The question stunned and surprised him, and he was flattered by such a bold invitation. His gaze turned the sleeping bundles curled next to them, and he wondered, "Who would care for the children?"

Her green eyes were calm, and the sunlight picked out the golden flecks more clearly. "Alama and Matilda will care for them. They are used to days when I cannot come."

Alan sighed, turning his brown gaze to her green one. "I would be honored to meet your sister and her family." He told her, bringing her fist to his lips and brushing it gently.

This time, he watched with gentle amusement as she blushed.

* * *

Catrina Mortanisa hummed to herself as she straightened the tapers that graced the large centerpiece of her table. One hand rested on her belly, growing larger by the day. Her son had rested in her womb for over six turns of the moon now, and she could feel him growing restless. She hoped he contained his father's fighting spirit and her sense of honor.

Young Saraihi lingered in the doorway, already wearing the pale blue dress that she would be donning for dinner. Ever since she had awoken that morning and had been told that her favorite aunt would be arriving, she had been uncontainable. She had already escaped her governess and nurses four times over the course of the day to stand on the balcony that overlooked the courtyard, peering down the road in search of her aunt's carriage.

Finally, Catrina had allowed her to help with the preparations, if only because it stemmed the incessant questions that were all repeated over and over again. For a girl only seven summers, she could surely talk! Ever since the girl was old enough to speak, she had asked questions.

"When is Auntie Bell coming?" She demanded imperiously, and her mother sighed. Turning away from the fresh flowers she had been sniffing, she stared at her daughter. Saraihi shrank back some, expecting a reproach, but her mother merely smiled. It wasn't the tired smile when the baby wore her out; it was the happy smile, the one Saraihi saw when she did something good, or when Auntie Bell came over.

It had been a long time since Auntie Bell came, Saraihi reflected, shaking her head so that her raven curls bounced. Her dark blue eyes--the ones she had inherited from her mother--scanned the table and the decorations, and then nodded approval.

"It's very pretty, Maman," she said, so solemn and dignified that Catrina bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Thank you, Saraihi," she responded, smiling in spite of herself at her daughter's serious visage. "I designed it myself."

A rattling of what sounded like carriage wheels on stone halted all conversation as it reached their ears. With an ear-splitting shriek of "Auntie Bell!" Saraihi was gone in a flash of pale blue, leaving her bemused mother to follow behind, calling for her husband and smiling as the baby kicked out insistently, sensing the need for celebration.

* * *

Alan reached his hand into the carriage, helping Isabel down. As she stepped onto the cobblestones, he once again admired her beauty. Her emerald dress fell to her feet, hugging her curves and showing off her slim figure, and elegant embroidery brought out her eyes, highlighting the gold flecks. Her hair was bound high on her head, but tendrils of hair were arranged to hang around her face becomingly, brushing her exposed collarbone and neck. Even though the spring day had been warm, she still wore long sleeves as she always did, but Alan hadn't heard her complain once about the heat.

They had left early that morning, before the sun had even had the chance to dance upon the waves of the Eastern Gate of the World. It had been a quiet ride to Catrina's estate, but as they had gotten closer and closer to their destination, Isabel had become increasingly restless. Now, stepping down from the carriage, her color high in her cheeks, she surveyed their surroundings with delight.

A shriek rent the air, and the two guests turned to find a pale blue streak racing towards Isabel. "Auntie Bell! Auntie Bell!" It cried, and laughing, Isabel knelt down with no regard for her gown and opened her arms, her eyes glowing.

"How is my little Sarai?" She asked fondly, and Alan watched as the blur melted into a girl perhaps a summer younger than Belle with raven curls and dark blue eyes. She threw her arms around Isabel's neck, her eyes shining.

"Auntie Bell, you came!" She cried, tightening her grip and beaming into her beloved aunt's face. "And you brought your husband!" She cried joyfully, disengaging from Isabel and rushing up to Alan, hugging him briefly around the waist. She stared up at him in open curiosity. "What's your name?"

"Saraihi, this is Sir Alan," Isabel firm voice came from behind the little girl, and Alan looked up to find her concealing a smile. Her voice became gentle and she blushed in spite of herself at her next words. "He is not my husband."

"Oh." Saraihi said solemnly, releasing Alan and peering up into his face. She turned to Isabel, her skirts swirling around her in the wind as she looked up at her aunt and said imperiously, "He should be your husband."

Leaving Isabel blushing and speechless and Alan gazing uncomfortably at the ground with her last comment, Saraihi spotted her parents coming into the courtyard and ran to them, spilling over with news and delighted that she had met the guests first.

"Maman! Papí!" She called to them excitedly, skidding to a stop and bouncing around their feet excitedly like a young puppy. "Auntie Bell is here, and she brought Sir Alan!" She lowered her voice and whispered, her face serious, "But he is not her husband."

Instead of being shocked by this news as she was, her mother looked as if she was about to laugh, and her father just smiled at her like he did when she said something clever.

"Yes, Saraihi," Catrina said soothingly, watching her sister and her suitor closely. "We know he is not her husband."

"Run along, pet," Her father said calmly, his accent soothing as he ran his hands through her dark curls and placed a large hand on her back, propelling her inside. "Tell the cook the guests are here." He watched his daughter scamper off and turned to his wife.

Catrina was busy studying the couple who had just arrived. The man was tall, almost as tall as her husband, and tanned from a life of work. His brown hair had been washed and combed back from his face, but some of it had flopped out of its careful placement and was brushing his forehead. His brown eyes watched his surroundings carefully, and the way he stood slightly in front of Isabel told her that he was ready to protect her little sister from anything. His lean frame and well-muscled body told her that he was not used to a nobleman's luxurious way of life. He looked to be no older than twenty-six or twenty-seven summers, only four or five summers younger than herself.

"My little swan!" Alan looked up as the melodic voice rang out, echoing across the stones. A woman was rushing towards Isabel, her arms outstretched and her belly rounded with a full pregnancy. Even at this distance, he could see the family resemblance. Catrina had the same eyes as Isabel, even though hers were a dark blue and not green. Her dark hair had the same curl to it, and even their bodies had the same graceful form.

Isabel grimaced at the old nickname, but she was smiling as she embraced her sister. "It is good to see you." She told Catrina, who hugged her once more before once again resting a hand on her rounded belly.

"Greet your nephew," she instructed her younger sister, and Isabel complied.

Placing a soft hand on her sister's belly, Isabel lowered her voice to a whisper. "Greetings, young one. I am your Auntie Isabel." She waited expectantly, and then a moment later the baby kicked out in response.

The two sisters grinned at each other, their love for the unborn infant mutual, and then Catrina turned to Isabel's companion. Her dark skinned husband had already greeted him in a fellow soldier's stoic manner, and so Catrina approached him, unable to hide her curiosity about the only man Isabel had ever brought with her.

"Lady Catrina Mortanisa," Isabel said formally, giving her sister's hand to Alan, "this is my friend, Sir Alan Rial."

Alan bowed formally over her hand, lifting her knuckles to his lips. "I am pleased to meet one of Isabel's family, Lady Catrina." His brown eyes gleamed into her own, and Catrina was pleased by his sincerity.

Taking her Raphael's arm, Catrina smiled at the other couple. "Shall we eat?"

* * *

After much laughter and many anecdotes about Isabel's childhood, dinner was almost finished. Isabel was wondering how many more embarrassing stories her sister was going to tell when Catrina stood, signifying the end of the meal. Isabel breathed a sigh of relief, but it immediately turned sour as her sister turned to her and made her next announcement.

"Time for the dance!"

"Dance?" Isabel repeated, shocked. It only took her a moment to recover, and then she was protesting loudly. "Catrina, I haven't danced in years! I have no desire to make a fool of myself!"

Catrina smiled at her, and Isabel could have sworn she saw a crafty light gleaming in her sister's eyes. "Sir Alan will just have to lead you." She responded, and Isabel swore to herself silently.

Alan had stood at the mention of a dance, and if Isabel wasn't mistaken, was poised to flee the hall. At the mention of such an activity, he stiffened, and sent Isabel a panicked look. Unable to refuse her sister, Isabel shook her head in defeat. Sighing, Alan held out a hand and led her onto the dance floor.

The musicians struck up a slow waltz, and after watching Catrina and Raphael move effortlessly around the room, Isabel and Alan attempted to clumsily copy them. After bumping into each other several times and barely avoiding many stomped toes, they worked out a slow rhythm that worked for them.

Alan's hands were warm on her back, and Isabel relaxed into his hold, comfortable. She didn't shy away as much when he did touch her, and she had danced enough with other suitors not to feel panicked by the feel of a man's hands around her waist or on her back. She rested her head on his chest, a familiar position, and she could feel him shift his hold on her, now cradling her. They had stopped moving as much, and even though the musicians were playing, they merely swayed to the tune, content in each other's presence.

Isabel turned her face up to Alan, finding him staring at her in such a way that made her flush and feel her veins rush with heat. She glanced away, and felt his cheek against her hair. This too was familiar, and she calmed the rapid beat of her heart. This was her friend, Alan, who had not asked for anything but hospitality. For the first time in suns, she reminded herself that he did not seek her out. Strangely, surprising even herself, she was beginning to wish he had. It had been eleven suns since he came to her home. Three suitors had come and gone in that amount of time before he came. What kept him here?

She looked up again to find Alan staring down at her, but this time, she did not look away. She welcomed the heat that rushed through her veins, and for the first time in moons, remembered what it was like to love a suitor.

His lips touched hers, gently, hesitantly, as if he knew that he had to be cautious. That single touch brought to life feelings she had long forgotten, stirrings that had long lain dormant. She responded tremulously, and she felt her hands wrap around his neck. The gentle caress of his lips against hers was bringing her back to life, reminding her of what love was. She clung to him, trembling as heat rushed through her whole body.

His hand came up to cradle her neck, and his arm wrapped tighter around her. The pressure of his hand and his arm sent alarm bells coursing through her head, and she stiffened. He didn't seem to notice, and as his lips drifted over hers again, she almost lost herself to him on the wave of warm pleasure that swamped her. But the pressure of his hand reminded her of stolen kisses that had been robbed from her, not freely given and greedily claimed by men who had no right taking them. His arm clenched around her waist no longer held her safe but held her prisoner, like so many of the men that had tried to pin her against a wall and take her, convinced that taking what they wanted was the only way since she would not surrender willingly.

Surrounded by the demons of her past and the ghosts of hundreds of suitors, she broke free of Alan's grasp. A ragged sob followed by a gasp tore from her throat, and she vaguely heard the music falter to an uncertain stop. Feeling tears crowd her eyes, Isabel fled the hall as if pursued, leaving an anxious Catrina and a hurt Alan in her wake.

_

* * *

_

"Little swan, where are you hiding?" Catrina's voice echoed down the length of the Great Hall, and little Isabel, crouched underneath a long wooden table, stifled a giggle. Her sister may be fifteen summers to Isabel's eight, but Isabel could still find the best hiding places. She was also the best at keeping still and silent. Catrina and Ernest fidgeted too much, making it easy for her to find them.

_"Still searching for the duckling?" Graham's teasing voice came from a chair at the next table, where he lounged comfortably watching his older sister while two of his hunting hounds fought over a bone at his feet. _

_Isabel stuck her tongue out at her older brother, even though he couldn't see her. Just because Graham was eleven summers and beginning his page training, he thought he knew everything. His female hound, the one Isabel liked the best and had nicknamed Cygnet, got to her paws and trotted in Isabel's direction. At any other time, Isabel would have been delighted to see the canine, but not when she was trying to hide!_

_Cygnet plopped down in front of Isabel, lifted her head, and gave a hound's call that signified cornered prey. Surprised by the howl, both of Isabel's older siblings turned towards the noise, and Catrina was the first to spot the scrap of pink cloth that was Isabel's dress. _

_"I see you, little swan," she warned, advancing on the table. Cygnet, satisfied with a job well done, trotted back over to her master. Her littermate, distracted by her call, had left the bone unguarded. Cygnet snatched the bone away from her brother and trotted off, her plumed tail high in the air. _

_Isabel decided to run while she still had a chance of avoiding her older sister. It was a game she sometimes played, to see if her sister was as fast as she. Racing out from under the table, she took off to the other side of the hall. She was so preoccupied with trying to look back and see in Catrina was chasing her that she was quite surprised when she crashed into someone. Falling backwards, she peered up into the face of the person she had run into. _

_Her father's face stared down at her, and Isabel hastily got to her feet, all mirth and excitement gone. Her father was going to be cross. _

_"Adam, catch her!" Catrina's voice came from behind her, and Isabel looked at the man again. In the firelight, she had thought that the man was her father, but then she remembered that her oldest brother Adam looked just like her father. _

_She tried to avoid his grasp, but Adam, at nineteen summers, was much stronger than his youngest sibling, and he quickly scooped her up. _

_"Trying to escape again, little one?" He asked kindly, smiling at her. Isabel nodded seriously, matching his gray eyes with her green ones. _

_"You are ruining it." She informed him primly, and she could feel his chest rumble with a laugh underneath her hands as she resisted his tight grip, pushing against his chest and wriggling to be put down. He gently deposited her on the stone floor, and Isabel turned, ready to flee._

_She took one step, and her surroundings swam around her, making her dizzy. She felt her body change shape until she was her full-grown self. Adam still stood there, his gray eyes serious. He was surrounded by their other siblings, and they all gazed at her with sorrow and pity. Grouped around them and stretching across the hall was every suitor she had ever entertained, and they were all staring at her with the same lustful gaze. Isabel took a step back, frightened. _

_"He will soon be gone." Adam's voice was deep and sorrowful. "He is not yours to keep." Isabel shook herself out of her frozen staring contest with hundreds of eyes and stared at her brother, confused._

_"What do you speak of?" She asked, confused and disoriented. It was Fredrick who answered this time. _

_"He will be gone." He repeated gravely, his blue eyes large in a pale face. _

_"Who do you speak of?" Isabel demanded, truly frightened now. _

_The specters of her past would say nothing; they merely stared at her with accusing eyes and faded away, each voice solemnly repeating the same word over and over in a strange and haunting mantra. _

_"Gone…gone…gone…" _

Isabel awoke mumbling the word, and her first conscious thought was that she was not alone.

A familiar voice spoke out of the darkness. "Isabel? Are you all right? You cried out in your sleep."

The voice was hesitant and anxious, and Isabel sighed. How could she blame Alan for being nervous? She was the one who had run from his embrace earlier that evening, she was the one who had kept silence all the way back to Wynclyff in the early hours of the morning. She had gone through her day with as little contact with the man as possible, still unsure of how to act around him. She had fallen asleep, exhausted, but as they often did of late, her memories morphed into night terrors.

"I am fine, Alan." She told him softly, moving over on the bed so he had room to sit down. He took the invitation to sit, but she felt his hesitance even in the dark.

"You did nothing wrong at my sister's home, Alan." The woman told him, her green eyes sorrowful in the light of the single candle that wavered on the table next to her bed.

"If I did nothing wrong, why did you flee?" Alan asked, moving more fully onto the bed, needing to know why she acted the way she did.

Isabel sighed heavily and massaged her temples, her head suddenly pounding. She knew what he wanted to hear, and she knew that she had to tell him the story. He deserved to hear it, but she had never told it to another human before.

Placing her hand on his, she looked into his shadowed face, his eyes hidden with his back to the flame. "Alan, I must tell you a story. Will you listen?"

Alan nodded immediately, shifting to get comfortable. The weariness in Isabel's eyes and words told him that this would be a long story, and not one easily told. Keeping his hand in hers, he fixed his eyes on hers, already attentive. Isabel took a deep breath, steadying herself, and began telling her life story, one that began long before her birth.

"Lady Zarina of Wynclyff was a young nobleman's daughter, dreaming of marrying a handsome young lord. She had her share of suitors, but she was flighty and would often toy with them, favoring one over the other and then watching them battle between themselves, amused by their petty fights.

"Until the day Sir Alexander of Eytan came to seek her hand. He was the first born son of a powerful duke to the far north, and he had heard of Zarina's beauty. He was stunned by her red hair and her fiery spirit, and he was bewitched by her glowing green eyes. The attraction was mutual. Lady Zarina felt drawn to Alexander's stormy gray eyes and his wheat-blond hair that shimmered in the sun. The sun that she met Sir Alexander was the last day Zarina looked at another suitor. The moment their eyes met, they knew they belonged together.

"Lady Zarina bid good-bye to her ailing father and her beloved childhood home of Wynclyff, which she affectionately called her "little port in the storm." She left with Sir Alexander to be married and run his estates in the north at the Castle Eytan. In time, Alexander's father passed on to the Realms of the Old Ones, but Alexander grieved for only a moon before he took over his father's role as duke.

"Soon after, Zarina found herself expecting their first child. While she was excited, her husband was not. Alexander adored and truly loved his wife, but there was no room in his heart to love a child. To him, children were only used to insure the continuation of a lineage. First their son was born, and since her name started with the first letter of the common letter counting system, Z, and her husband's name contained the last, A, Zarina decided that she would name each child she had with a name starting with each letter, starting with the final letter. Her first child she named Adam, and he was his father's son. Alexander was pleased, but that did not mean that he loved the child.

"Zarina was soon expecting again, and this time she bore a girl. She named her Beatrice, but Alexander barely gave her a second glance. He was too busy accumulating lands to worry about his children. His greed for money grew, and while he still loved his wife, he had more concern for his goods than the children that had come from their love.

"Zarina began to realize that Alexander did not love their children, but she still returned to his bed every night. Over the next three years, she bore her husband three more children: two girls, one boy. She called them Catrina, Diana, and Ernest, continuing with her game of letters. Alexander barely entered the birthing chamber on each occasion, and then returned to his work. Zarina hoped that he would be happy with five children, but every time she returned to the marriage bed, she seemed to conceive. With each child, she hoped that Alexander would begin to love his growing brood, but if anything, her husband seemed to grow more and more distant. He showed affection for his wife, but to him, his children were nothing more than noisy hunting hounds.

"Zarina despaired at her husband ever showing their children affection, so she loved all her children as best as she could, but soon she found herself pregnant, and she had to give their care over to nurses. Over the next three years, she bore three more children: two boys, one girl. They were named Fredrick, Graham, and then a small and sickly, girl named Henrietta. Henrietta lived only for a few short weeks, and when she died, her mother grieved, but her father did not seem to care. Duke Alexander was now currying the king's favor in the court in the king's capital, and while he returned home from time to time to show his wife he still loved her, he had no time for his many children. Zarina cared for her children as best she could and gave them all her love, but children need a father's love too, which they grew up bereft of. Zarina still loved her husband with all the passion of their first meeting, but her children were now her primary responsibility.

"After Zarina had been taking care of her children alone for over a decade, Duke Alexander returned from the king's capital with money, new titles and good spirits. He welcomed his wife to his bed with love and passion, and their last child was conceived. Alexander seemed concerned that his wife was not her fiery self, that her spirit seemed to be missing, but he failed to realize that she was trying to supply her many children with both a mother and a father's love, and that such a task was killing her lovely spirit.

"Zarina was so crippled by her exhausting task that she could barely summon the strength to push her final babe into the world. She named her last girl Isabel and entrusted her to her loyal lady-in-waiting, who had been with Zarina from childhood. Zarina held onto life, but her body was physically exhausted and her spirit was crippled, and she never got out of bed. She lay bedridden for two summers following the birth of her daughter, and then, one night, the Old Ones stole her tired soul away and led it to the Realms.

"Duke Alexander was devastated. His beloved wife was dead, and he was left with eight young children, all under fourteen summers. His attempts to remarry failed, both in part to the fact that he had eight small children and that he could not let go of his wife's memory.

"His children, understanding that their mother was no longer there to care for them, began to care for themselves. The youngest girl was raised by her older sisters, and while she could remember her mother's face, she did not truly recall her mother. To her, her older sisters were her mothers, and her older brothers were her fathers. Her real father was a cold and imposing man that was loud and scary.

"The youngest girl grew up wild and carefree, and knew nothing of the womanly arts because her sisters had never taught her. Her sisters had learned the arts from their governesses and other ladies that took pity on them, but they never thought that their little sister, their baby, would ever need to know such things…until it was too late.

"The youngest child was now a young girl of thirteen summers. She was approaching her fourteenth summer, and her father had decided to find her a suitor and marry her off quickly, as he had done for all her other sisters. The girl was bewildered and confused by all the preparations. She had never learned to flirt with a man, had never kissed a boy, and had never learned any of the courtly manners needed for a true courtship. How could she? She had been sheltered all her life by her older sisters who kept her out of her father's sight.

"The young lord who wanted the young girl as his wife was kind to her, befriending her. The girl had no true idea of what marriage was truly like, but she did not mind having this young man's friendship. He was gentle and nice, and she found herself growing attached to him. She fancied herself in love, but it was really a flight of fancy, that which comes across all girls at that age. But the young girl did not know any better.

"One night, the young lord had had enough waiting. The betrothal papers had long been signed, and he was eager, as all men are, to make the girl his. He forced himself on her, intent on taking her virtue. Terrified and confused, the girl did nothing to stop his pursuits. If her oldest sister had not intervened, the girl would have had her virtue stolen and her name shamed.

"Confused and feeling shamed, the girl avoided the young man for the rest of his stay, and when her older sister brought the deed to their father's attention, the duke was furious. Not at the young man, as one might expect, but at his daughters. He was so sure that the young man had not wronged his daughter, but that his youngest child was creating the story so she could slander the young lord's name. Enraged by what he saw as deceit, he declared the young girl exiled. Wanting to rid himself of a willful girl-child and old memories that refused to be put to rest, the duke banished the young girl of only fourteen summers to her mother's childhood home of Wynclyff, in the most eastern reaches of the kingdom.

"In order to teach his wicked daughter a lesson, the duke made a second decree. He allowed any suitor to seek his daughter's hand, once at the fortnight and another at the turn of the moon. If she could not find a man to marry by the eve of her twenty-fifth summer, he declared, she would come and live with him for the rest of his days, cast down to nothing but a mere servant, forced to care for his every need."

Isabel's voice broke off in sob that echoed in the dark silence of the night, but Alan remained silent. Several things had just fallen into place, but he was still puzzling a few things out. And while he longed to find Duke Alexander and make his life very painful, he knew he could not. He had a mission to complete. And Isabel was crying again.

For the third time in the last three suns, Alan took the weeping woman in his arms. Isabel curled into his embrace, no longer fighting his presence. She had told him every secret she harbored except one, and he had yet to condemn her. Hope fluttering in her breast, she looked up at him. He stared into the darkness, but his arms were wrapped securely around her, and the rise and fall of his chest soothed her as his heart throbbed comfortingly under her ear. Looking down, Isabel saw that in the telling of her story, the sleeves of her nightgown had rolled up. Hurriedly she pulled them down, glancing up to see if Alan had witnessed her nervous movements and praying that the night hid her most shameful secret.

"Send me word, and your father's head is yours," Alan growled into the darkness, and Isabel chuckled wetly, her residual fears about Alan being her father's man finally disappearing with his words.

"No." She said quietly. "He is my father. My kin. I cannot ask for his death."

Alan glanced down at her incredulously, but her green eyes had already closed. She was sleeping peacefully, all her demons put to rest. Her breathing was deep and even, and she snuggled deeper into his chest. Although he was comfortable and would love to stay, Alan felt the need to go back to his own room. Isabel would be more comfortable if she woke alone in the morning, and he did not know if he could control his own desires around her any more. He stroked her cheek, then froze as Isabel mumbled his name and turned into his hand, clearly relishing the touch, even in sleep. Deciding he should leave before he proved himself no better than the men that had tried to take advantage of her, Alan eased himself out of bed, leaving Isabel to snuggle into the sheets and pillows, sleeping soundly. Brushing his lips against hers in a chaste kiss that was an echo of the one that had shared earlier, Alan turned to leave the room.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her sleeping form, lit by a single candle. Her window was partially open, revealing the moon shining benevolently over an ocean that was washing against the shore with the cadence of a lullaby, and his knowledge of the moon and its movements surprised him as he studied it. With a sinking heart, he realized something very crucial about the waxing moon.

He had to leave Isabel by the next sunset. His time was running out.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh, the clock is ticking! Alan doesn't have much time, and one can only wonder if he will confess his feelings for Isabel before leaving. Tell me what you think. Reviews are very much appreciated!**


	9. Chapter 8: Into the Night

**A/N: Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, and here is Chapter 8! I apologize for the shortness of the this chapter, but that's just the way the plot points worked out. This chapter is coated with angst, but that's the way the story, flows, so I hope you'll all forgive for this plot twist. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 8: Into the Night

_Alan Rial was nervous. He gripped the practice sword his father had made him in sweaty hands, and he watched the instructors with darting eyes. It did not matter that Captain Lath was an old family friend and as familiar to Alan as an uncle; his father had explained to him that a commander did not play favorites when training young soldiers. _

_"You want to train to be soldiers?" Lath's subordinate--Private Treval, Alan knew his name to be--asked quietly, silky smooth, as if offering a treat. Several of the boys nodded and relaxed as they glanced at each other, obviously relieved that the trainer was not going to yell at them. Only Alan remained alert, every nerve tense and ready for what he knew was coming. _

_"You will not become soldiers by lazing around!" Treval roared suddenly, whirling to face the trainees. All of the young men—none older than fifteen summers—except for Alan jumped, surprised by the change in the private. Lath, seeing that Alan had not startled, winked at the young boy. It seemed the boy had listened to his warnings about training soldiers. _

_"You!" Treval pointed at a boy no older than thirteen summers, who visibly quailed under the private's fierce gaze. "Do you know how to defend yourself?" _

_The boy nodded, his head bobbing nervously. He unsheathed his practice sword, made of dull metal, and almost dropped it, his hands shaking. A chuckle rippled along the line of boys, but Treval's harsh glare silenced them. _

_"Blacksmith's son!" Treval barked, turning on Alan, his gray eyes gleaming. "You know how to use that sword?" _

_Alan froze, convinced he hadn't heard the man correctly. "S-sir?" He stuttered, his hand clutching the dull blade harder as it slid in his sweaty group. _

_Treval eyed the boy in annoyance. "Do you know how to defend yourself?" He asked sharply, his patience clearly waning._

_Alan snapped to attention, giving the private the soldier's salute he had often seen Captain Lath use. "Yes, sir!" _

_Treval raised an eyebrow at the salute but was not about to protest. "Show me." He ordered, waving his own sharpened blade between the two boys. "Fight." _

_Alan swallowed hard and turned his gaze to his opponent. The boy was younger than he was, and smaller. He could use that to his advantage. His father had taught him how to defend himself with the blade, but he didn't know how to actually fight. He could only hope that the other boy knew nothing of swordplay. _

_Seeing Treval waiting, he stepped forward, watching as the other boy did the same. Raising his sword and hoping what he knew would be enough, Alan heedlessly lunged forward. His dull blade was aiming for the other boy's ribs, and his opponent, surprised by the sudden attack, yelped and backed away, bringing his own sword up in a weak attempt to defend. _

_Alan batted the other sword away, intent on getting to his opponent. He beat the other boy back, hitting him lightly with the flat of the blade as was allowed by the rules. His father had taught him little of attacking, and most of what he was doing was imitation from watching Captain Lath and his soldiers dueling. _

_Defeated and frightened, the other boy fell back, suddenly kneeling and offering his own sword up—the ultimate sign of submission. Surprised, Alan stopped and lowered his sword, feeling a heady sense of triumph wash over him. He had won his first fight. _

_The cold prick of a blade under his chin made him freeze where he stood, sliding his eyes slowly over to find Private Treval wielding the blade that gently lifted Alan's face to his own, the flat of the blade supporting the boy's head. _

_"We might just make a soldier of you yet, boy." Treval murmured, studying Alan with a calculating look in his eyes, and Lath looked on, pride clearly written all over his face. _

_And then what should have been a golden memory of the first fight won turned into a nightmare. _

_All the young boys, including Alan's opponent, charged Alan at once. Suddenly bereft of his sword, Alan faced a dozen young men armed with dull swords with nothing more than his own fists to defend himself. _

_"This is how it has to be, lad." Lath told him sadly, drawing his blade as well. Alan tried to call out, but the other boys were on him now, and dull blades, no matter how old, can still inflict pain. Alan tried to face his attackers, but pain and fear were paralyzing him, and then they were dragging him down into the darkness that suddenly grew around them, and he couldn't tell night from day any more, no more than he could tell his own name after a moment as the ground gave way under his feet and he fell to the black depths that dragged him down. _

Alan opened his eyes, breathing hard. He was free from one nightmare and found himself in another.

It was bright, brighter than it should be in the dead of night. Every candle he had in the room was lit, and the fire roared in the fireplace, echoing the cries in his dream. His room was bathed with as much light as it possibly could be, even though shadows still lingered on the edges of the room. The sharp blade he had felt in his dream was clearly real, as a dagger was being held to his throat, pressing lightly against the tender part of his neck where his pulse beat frantically. Alan blinked the cold terror-sweat from his nightmare out of his eyes and looked up, trying to find out who had him captive, pinned to his bed and held at dagger-point.

He stared up into the enraged gaze of Captain Lath Wolse.

Alan stared at his old friend, sure he was still dreaming. Lath couldn't be here; it was a two-sun ride from the capital to Wynclyff. He bit his tongue to hold back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Deciding it wasn't real, and convinced the Old Ones still gripped his dreams, Alan felt a sense of calm steal over him.

"Would you please sheath your weapon?" He asked, unconsciously echoing Lath's own command to him so many suns ago when he had received his assignment. He fidgeted, trying to maneuver his neck away from the blade that was pressing coldly against his sweat-soaked skin. "I would like to live to see my twenty-seventh summer."

Lath blinked in surprise at the younger man, but didn't remove his dagger. He glared, the anger this man's irresponsibility coursing through his veins and making him tremble with rage. "You will thank the Old Ones if you are alive enough to see your son after I finish with you." He threatened the younger man, his voice raspy from fury.

Beneath his blade, he could feel Alan stiffen, and he saw the brown eyes harden into a glare that would have impressed him, had he not been so furious. "What have you done to my son?" Alan demanded, gripping Lath's wrist and forcing both it and the dagger away from his face so he could sit up.

"I have not harmed your son." Lath said truthfully, his anger cooling slightly. "You are the only who has hurt him."

Alan stared at him, brow furrowed, clearly not understanding what his captain was getting at. "How have I harmed him?" He asked, now more puzzled than angry.

Lath shook his head sadly, watching Alan with a pitying gaze. "You promised your son you would return in a fortnight, did you not?" He asked, watching as Alan nodded, still confused.

"I did," the younger man agreed, staring up at him.

"You have been gone twelve suns." Lath growled, his anger once again returning. "Your mission is not complete. You must complete it. It is a two-sun ride back to your son. By the time you return from your mission, it will be past the turn of the moon. You have failed your promise to your son."

He watched as with each harsh word Alan's face grew paler, and he kept shaking his head, as if he could erase the truth in his friend's voice by merely moving his head. Finally, with the last word, Alan dropped his head into his hands, defeated.

"What have I done?" He moaned, thinking of Lucas waiting for him, thinking of the boy's face when his father did not return as promised. It was the first time he had not returned when he had promised. What Lucas and Marnie must think of him, of what had happened to him…

He felt Lath's heavy hand on his shoulder in what was supposed to comfort him, but it just increased the guilt. He had failed his son, failed his king, and failed his country. He couldn't even deliver his message. He had felt that staying with Isabel was more important. He stiffened at the thought. Isabel…

Lath was speaking, he realized as he raised his head. "…there's a ship waiting in the cove on the beach for us. We'll leave at once for the Eastern Continent. Perhaps if the Old Ones bless us, your slight…stop…here will go unnoticed, and your mission with be completed.

"Leave?" Alan echoed, staring up at Lath who was currently packing his saddlebags, the only type of satchel he had brought with him. "We have to leave?"

Lath nodded tightly. "Immediately, before the sun comes." He paled at a sudden thought. "The letter…do you still keep it?" The color returned to his face as Alan pulled both the genuine and fake letters from under his shirt.

"I keep them here when I sleep." He told the captain, who nodded his approval. There wasn't much to pack, and Lath assured Alan that the ship was well stocked, and Alan, caught up in Lath's urgency and still-cooling anger, was ready to leave. As they crept down the corridor, Alan paused and turned towards the eastern part of the castle.

"Isabel…" he whispered, and the sea breeze seemed to whisk it down the corridor to where her bedchamber lay.

"Who?" Lath halted as well, impatient to continue, tugging the strands of his white hair nervously. "Who are you worrying over?"

"Lady Isabel." Alan clarified, suddenly loathing Lath's appearance. He shouldn't have to leave her in the dead of night like a real thief. He should be allowed to go to her, wake her, explain to her that he had to leave, tell her he had a mission, kiss her good-bye, give the Old Ones' blessing and receive it in return…

No, it should not be like this.

"Have you grown attached to your mistress?" Lath asked, the hint of a sneer in his voice. The way Alan spoke her name, he assumed that there was only one connection between the two. "Do you wish to thank her for her hospitality?" The last word was so heavily laden with connotations that Alan whirled around, suddenly furious. Lath found himself pinned against the wall, Alan's arm across his throat.

"Do not ever speak of her that way!" Alan growled, forcing each word out one at a time through clenched teeth that audibly ground together.

Lath held up his hands as best as he could in his position and said quietly, "All right, lad. Clearly I misjudged you both." After one hard look, Alan backed up, taking his pack with him.

"We have a ship waiting." He said tersely, heading down the silent hallway. Laths had no choice but follow. He did not want to lose sight of Alan when he himself did not know the way; after all, the only way he had found Alan's bedchamber was through sheer luck.

* * *

"Milady." Someone was trying to shake Isabel out of dreams that made no sense. But she could not pull away. "Milady. Milady!"

_"You must let go!" Adam's growl was a clear command as he tried to pry Isabel's hands loose from something she gripped with all her strength. _

_Isabel stared down at what she held. What did she want so badly that she clung to it so fiercely? Looking down, she stared in dream-like bemusement at the scarred and beating heart that pulsed gently in her hands. Her fingers left imprints as Adam pulled them away one at a time, and she realized dazedly that all her siblings were helping with his efforts. _

"Milady!" The cries were harsher now, higher-pitched and desperate. "You must get up!"

_"It is not yours to keep!" With a final grunt and a satisfied sigh, Adam succeeded in pulling the heart from his youngest sister's grip. Without a glance, he tossed it behind him, where it disappeared into the darkness. Isabel felt sobs beginning to choke her throat at the rough treatment, but she didn't understand why. _

Despairing cries now. A sharp slap, but Isabel barely registered the pain.

_"Why can I not keep it, if you have no use for it?" Isabel demanded, ignoring the tears that streamed down her face. She did not understand why she needed the heart so badly, nor why it seemed like her own was being torn from her at that moment. She just knew that the heart meant more to her at that second than her own life. _

"Oh, milady!" The quiet sob reverberated through the silent chamber as the woman sank down beside her deeply-sleeping mistress. "He's gone, and you can't even be roused!"

_Adam's features turned to ones of malice and the morbid glee in the face of someone else's pain. "We have succeeded," he told his siblings triumphantly, gazing with pride at something beyond Isabel. _

"Lady Isabel!" The call was a firm command, but the voice shook. "You are needed!"

_Isabel whirled around, her face draining of all color and her mouth opening in a silent cry as she saw what her older siblings had been gloating over. Alan stood silently, staring at her in reproach and horror. A blossom of blood stained the shirt he wore, but even the deadly rose was unable to conceal the hole in his chest. _

_The hole…where his heart had once been. _

Isabel screamed herself awake, startling the maid that sobbed quietly next to her mistress's bed. Matilda leapt to her feet, spurred by Isabel's scream and the dreadful news she carried.

A bright light in Isabel's line of sight banished the images behind her eyelids for a moment, but she was shuddering from what she had dreamt. She waved a hand at the light, blinking hard, and it retreated.

She peered into her maid's face, and was shocked to see that it appeared as if the woman had been crying.

"Matilda?" She asked, her voice raspy and hoarse and shaky from screaming. "Where's Alan?"

"He's gone, Your Ladyship."

Isabel stared at her maid, hearing what had just been said but not believing.

"No…"

The word was out before she could stop it, and it contained all her pain, all her disbelief, and all of her fear.

Matilda nodded, her eyes holding the same pain. She had hoped that this man would be different, that he would stay, that he would make her mistress happy…

He was just like the others. Curse the entire male race to the Old Ones!

"He promised." These words were whispered brokenly by the woman next to her, and Matilda's heart dropped. She had never heard her mistress sound so alone, so child-like, in the twelve years she had known her. In the ten years here, she had never heard her mistress in so much pain.

A wave of anger overtook the maid, aimed for the man that had fled. Didn't he know that Isabel was in love with him? Didn't he know that he owed the lady of the manor more than this? Who was he to think he could leave?

"He promised never to hurt me." The words were barely audible, and Matilda saw that Isabel's eyes were huge, vacant and staring. She had obviously retreated into her mind, as she always did when hurting.

The housekeeper wrapped her arms around the lady of the manor, pulling the younger girl to her. "He had his reasons, I'm sure." She tried to reassure Isabel, but she knew it was useless, and she wasn't sure she believed the words that had just come out of her mouth.

Why had he left?

* * *

Why was he leaving?

Alan stared up at the dark castle, looming high above him on the cliff. The sand beneath his feet was cool, as cold as the dread that had settled over him. He really had to leave her like this.

"Come on, lad!" Lath's irritated and insistent whisper carried down the beach, and Alan shouldered his packs obediently, years of soldier's training kicking in. Who was he to disobey an order?

But how he wanted to! He wanted to drop his bags and race back to his rooms, and then find Isabel and reassure her that he hadn't left, that he wasn't leaving. A candle glow in the upper room of the castle caused his heart to leap, but when the flame disappeared, his heart plummeted to his feet. This wasn't right. He couldn't leave Isabel like this. But, his mind protested, he had a mission to complete.

Lath's hand was on his shoulder, his pleas to board the waiting vessel behind them falling on deaf ears. Giving up, Lath bodily turned his friend around, cursing the woman that had such a hold on Alan that they had wasted so much time escaping the castle. Forcing Alan onto the waiting ship, he called the orders to set sail urgently, hoping the farther away they were the less love-sick and enchanted the younger man would be.

* * *

Isabel stood on the edge of the cliff, staring out onto the gentle waves that lapped against the sands, guided by the moon's soft pull. A ship was heading towards the dark eastern horizon, sails spread to their widest to catch the night wind and ride it all the way towards the edge of the world.

He was really leaving her.

At this thought, the numbness that had swallowed her at the first news of Alan's disappearance and betrayal broke, followed by crushing pain. Sobbing and feeling hot tears washing her face in their piercing rain, she fell to her knees, unable to supporting herself. Pain pierced her over and over, and her heart throbbed with the force of it.

Isabel gasped for breath, unprepared for this onslaught of agony. No man who had ever left her had abandoned her to this much pain. Alan's stay and friendship had affected her more than she thought, and perhaps she had felt more for him than she originally realized.

But the fact was still agonizingly there: He was gone. And he was never coming back.

Isabel gasped again as the pain twisted through her chest. Through the agony, she felt shaking hands pulling her to her feet, winding warm arms around her. Her face was pressed to a soft and understanding shoulder, and Matilda's soft voice whispered comforts in her ear as she led Isabel back to the castle.

Seeing that her mistress was in shock at such a betrayal, Matilda gazed at her sadly. "Oh, Lady, you loved him, didn't you?"

Isabel didn't answer. The pain had numbed her to everything around her. Nothing existed except for the agonizing fact that Alan was gone.

* * *

Alan watched the shadowy, faint figure of the cliff. The figure was too familiar to him, and he felt his chest contract with pain. As the figure collapsed, Alan rushed to the stern, straining to see what was happening. Isabel was in pain, and the agony that squeezed his chest and made it hard to breathe mirrored the pain she must be feeling. He needed to go to her, and for one crazy moment, he thought of jumping ship, of swimming back to the beach and climbing the precarious path back to the castle.

Lath's hand on his shoulder halted all those thoughts, and Alan knew what he had to do. His expression was blank and hard as he turned to look at Lath. Surprisingly, the older man's face held a bitterly understanding smile.

"You loved her." It was not a question.

Alan nodded before he could think of what he was doing. The pain that he felt when Lath had spoken those simple words confirmed it.

He looked back at the figure on the cliff, but it was gone. He loved Isabel, and now he would never see her again.

* * *

**A/N: Alan's gone! And he left without saying good-bye! Tell me what you think, and please review!**


	10. Chapter 9: Rain to Tears

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter 9! Here is a long chapter for all my lovely reviewers! Now, I know most you weren't happy with Alan's disappearance last chapter, but in this chapter, a lot of that is explained. If this chapter seems to cover things rather quickly, just keep in mind that it has been three days since Alan left. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 9: Rain to Tears

Kaay Arnau was not known for being a patient woman. She had made her way to the top of the King's Thieves by determination and lack of patience. She was known for roughing up more than one partner that couldn't make quick decisions on a mission, or a trainee that couldn't keep up during training exercise. Coarse though she seemed to be, she was a force to be reckoned with, and it was well known that only the truly fool-hardy or stupid were paired with her on missions. Or those with a death wish.

Right now, Kaay was feeling her patience thinning with every second that passed, and she wasn't sure who would be alive if things didn't reform themselves soon. When Captain Lath Wolse had contacted her in the capital, asking for her help in a mission involving the kingdom's welfare and taking place in the Eastern Continent, she had jumped at the chance. She was itching to get out of the capital, and true to her impatient nature, was more than ready to journey to places she had never been before.

The current source of her irritability sat on the bed behind her, and she could see him from the mirror she was currently using to fix her hair. Not one for femininity, she did it nonetheless, seeing as it was required for the role she was to play. She grumbled a few curses to the Old Ones as the man's expression did not change upon catching her gaze. His expression had kept its blank cast for the last three suns, ever since she had met Captain Lath down at the harbor, anxious to meet her new partner and undertake the mission that had been previously promised to this man.

She sighed. And Alan Rial had come so highly recommended.

Who knew she would meet her potential partner as a broken shell of a man? He had said not three words to her since they had first met, and Captain Lath had been surprisingly tight-lipped as to why the other man seemed to have lost his wits.

She had tried to snap his out of his numb state. (Truth be told, she had a bit of an attraction to the man—she had since they had trained as soldiers together, even though she was six years his junior.) Nothing had worked, and she had given up after he had not responded. He went through his days mechanically, interacting with the nobles that they were supposed to befriend, delivered the king's private letter as he had first been instructed, but beyond that, he seemed miles away.

Alan spent most of his days facing his window towards the sea, looking lost. Both Kaay and Lath had tried to get him to focus on the task that was at hand—Kaay using her feminine wiles and Lath using a soldier's rough command, but neither of them had broken through to the man that had seemingly shut down. He still ate, but it was forced, and Kaay couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the vibrant man that she had last seen leaving the capital only a fortnight ago. What had changed him in those suns he was gone?

The last of her patience was gone, and the petite woman spun away from the mirror to face her emotionless partner.

"I have controlled myself," she snapped, more disappointed in him than she could say. She was hoping to have learned something from him while working on this assignment, but as he proved more and more numb to the world, she had lost interest. "I have tried to be patient, but as you well know--" she smiled bitterly, "it is not my strongest virtue. So I ask you again: Will you help us?"

Alan stared at her, his brown eyes blank. He blinked at her, but otherwise did not move.

Frustrated, Kaay growled out a curse. Suddenly inspired by the impatience that was flowing through her veins like fire, she leaned over to her silent partner, positioning her mouth next to his ear, where he was sure to hear her.

"If you help me, you'll be free to leave and go back to wherever you came from."

For the first time that day, Alan Rial stirred, and something like the passion of battle lit his eyes.

"Back?" He whispered, his voice hoarse from speaking so little.

Kaay grinned, pleased more by the fact that he had responded than by the fact that he had spoken. Her partner shook himself, and she moved away. He stood, and looked more alive than he had in three suns.

He turned his gaze to her and blinked again. More life seemed to flow into his body, and a bitter smile seemed to pull at his lips as he looked at her.

"We have to complete this mission, Kaay." He told her, and Kaay grinned, her body already humming with the need to do something useful.

"We must." She agreed, clapping him on the shoulder and ignoring the flush of pleasure that came from hearing him speak her name. With that, she made her way across the room and out to the door that was across the corridor, making sure it was deserted and their surroundings were secure. It wouldn't do for some passing nobles to hear them discussing things that could possibly be seen as treason.

After much insistent hammering and a few well-aimed kicks to the hinges, the door swung open to reveal a harried-looking Lath.

"What do you want Kaay?" He snapped, but his anger died as he caught sight of Alan behind her. The young man still looked like a shadow of his normally vibrant and logical self, but he seemed more awake than he had in suns.

"What did you say to him?" He wondered to the woman, who merely smirked in triumph.

"I told him if he completed the mission he could go back to wherever he came from." She told him smugly, and Lath's grin that had begun to grow at her words quickly died.

"Of course he wants to go back." He muttered, more to himself than Kaay. When the woman looked at him inquiringly, he merely shook his head. "We'll never get him to return." He said sadly, resigned to the retirement of one his best soldiers and closest friends.

"Captain?" Kaay was dying to know, and Alan watched the exchange between the two, something that resembled a true smile curling his lips.

Lath raised heavy eyes to Kaay, his mouth twisting into a painful grimace. "This is Alan's last mission, Kaay."

"What?" Kaay couldn't believe her ears. One of the greatest soldiers and spies in the kingdom was done before his fortieth summer? It didn't make sense.

Lath sighed and ran a hand over his face, sorrow making him seem older than he was. "Kaay, he wants to return to Wynclyff, the estate where I found him. There's a woman..."

He didn't have to say any more. Kaay nodded sharply, ignoring the dull ache in her chest at this news. "Of course." She said briskly, pushing away the pain at this revelation. There would be other men for her. "We must complete this mission. Our king demands it of us."

Lath stepped out his room and faced his friends and fellow spies. "I would prefer it if this mission was completed before another summer comes to pass." He said lightly, leading the way down the hallway, Kaay by his side and Alan trailing behind.

Unnoticed by the other two, Alan's eyes were wide and warm with a fire that hadn't been there before. Slightly more conscious of his surroundings, he was no longer captured by the haze that taken him after he had abandoned Wynclyff. He had heard Kaay's and Lath's conversation, and he knew who they were speaking of.

One name passed his lips, a fervent prayer of hope. "Isabel."

* * *

Matilda was worried. She was always concerned for her mistress, but this time her worry was bordering on panic. It had been two suns since Alan had disappeared in the dead of night and Isabel had witnessed the ship sailing away from the beach. Since her collapse on the cliff, the lady of manor had been put to bed and had not moved. Every time Matilda tried to convince her to eat, Isabel refused. Matilda was very worried. Her mistress was wasting away before her very eyes, and she could do nothing about it! The children were currently being cared for, but Matilda knew it wouldn't be long before they would be wondering where their beloved lady was.

She peered into the bedchamber, biting her lip. Isabel was nothing but a lump under the linens, and she seemed disinclined to emerge. Matilda watched her mistress for a moment longer, but when Isabel stirred, the maid hurried away, off to find the one thing that might make her lady feel more like herself.

Isabel had felt her maid hovering around the doorway, and although she would usually feel guilty for making her maid worry excessively, she couldn't bring herself to care.

She couldn't even bring herself to feel.

Her surroundings had taken on a blurry cast, and her heart had slowed to a numb beating. Closing her eyes tightly against the surge of pain that came from hearing her own heartbeat, she wished fervently that it would stop beating. She had lost track of time; nothing had meaning since Alan had left. She almost scoffed at her own reaction, but the pain that had taken up permanent residence in her chest stopped her.

After ten years of surviving suit after suit, she was brought to the threshold of despair by one man? It didn't seem possible, but she had not moved from her rooms since Alan had disappeared into the night. She knew she should get out of bed, that Belle and Liam would be looking for her arrival, but the prick of guilt she felt at the thought of them quickly faded.

Alan.

Dreams, night-terrors, fantasies…all had populated her thoughts of him, and she could think of nothing else. Isabel wished that she could cast his memory aside as easily as she had discarded all the other suits that she had encountered over the years, but it was impossible. His memory was the one she could not forget, no matter how hard she tried.

The door creaking open caused her to shift her position, rolling over to peer at the nervous Matilda that edged her way through the door. The woman cradled a wrapped bundle in her arms, and Isabel stiffened under the sheets, recognizing it for what it was under the wraps.

"No."

Matilda froze in her tracks, casting a dubious glance at the fabric she held in her arms. Glancing back up at her mistress, she stared as she found Isabel glaring at the bundle as if it contained a thousand poisoned arrows. Emboldened by the fact that Isabel was showing more emotion than she had before, the maid took two steps forward, encouraged when Isabel continued glaring and ground out:

"Keep that away from me."

Hiding a grin and feeling a prick of guilt for using anger to rouse Isabel from her stupor, Matilda crossed to the bed and dumped the contents she held onto the covers.

"Milady," she said calmly, "I thought this would help you with your pain."

Isabel stared at the scarlet dress that spilled across the linens, once again torn between love and hate. Part of her longed to toss it to the ground and thoroughly shred it before burning it in the nearest fire, but yet another part of her longed to gather it up in her arms and weep into its folds, releasing her pain. No, a part of her mind whispered, she would not soil Alan's memory the way she had with all the others.

She pushed it away and glared at her maid a final time before turning on her side, leaving a discouraged Matilda to stare pleadingly at the rise and fall of her spine.

"Take it away."

Matilda gathered up the dress, wrapping it again and holding back tears. Her last resort had failed. How was she going to get her mistress out of bed and back to life?

* * *

Marnie stared at her nephew in disbelief. "Are you sure this is the right place, pet?"

The seven-summer old boy gave his aunt a triumphant grin and nodded imperiously. "It is. Papa's here."

Marnie stared up at the forbidding stone castle that loomed over them and frowned. After Lath had mysteriously disappeared three suns ago without a word, it had been up to Marnie and Lucas to figure out where Alan was on their own. Marnie had every intention of making her great displeasure known to the captain as soon as he returned, but her main priority was now a frantic Lucas, who would not sleep until he knew they would find his father.

After talking to Lath's wife, Marnie discovered that along with Alan riding east, the Eastern Gate to the World was involved. Lucas had been eager to set out the moment Marnie had revealed the information to him, but Marnie's husband was less excited than his nephew. It had taken much convincing on Marnie's part for him to agree. So Marnie and Lucas traveled east as the sun claimed the horizon.

After two suns of solid travel, they had arrived at the gates of this estate, which Marnie had been assured was the farthest eastern holding in the kingdom—any farther and the ocean was all one would have as an estate.

"All right, pet." The woman sighed, giving in to her nephew's unwavering conviction that his father was near, "We'll ask and see if your father's here."

Straightening her shoulders, Marnie walked up to the large oak door and knocked, trying to keep herself from quivering. As terrified as she was, it wouldn't help for Lucas to see her fear. His optimism had kept her going up until now, and her courage would have to get them the rest of the way.

The knocks resounded for a moment, and almost as if someone had been waiting for them, the door swung open. Marnie stumbled back a step as the draft created by the door swept by her, but she kept her eyes on the person in the doorway.

The man with the livery of a steward eyed them warily. "What do you require?" He asked, the question polite but the tone hard.

Marnie squared her shoulders, looking the man in the eye. "I'm looking for Sir Alan Rial," she told him, hoping that this man knew her errant brother. "Is he here?"

As she spoke, the man's caution faded, and at Alan's name, a spark of recognition lit his face. When she had finished, a sorrowful expression washed over his face, and he replied slowly, "No, missus, he's not here." When Marnie's face fell, and Lucas' lip began to quiver, he hurried to explain. "He _was _here, you see, missus, but he gone and left three suns ago on some urgent business. Hasn't been back."

At these words, Lucas cried out, "My papa's not here?" His green eyes filled with tears, and he looked at Marnie helplessly. Marnie's heart almost broke at the pain in his gaze. He was so sure he had been right.

The man's gaze had softened at the sight of the boy's distress. "No, lad," he said gently, "Sir Alan's not here. I'm sorry." He leaned down to the boy's level, almost as if sharing a secret, and said quietly, "It's been hard on her Ladyship too."

Lucas brightened at this, and his tears disappeared. "A lady?" He asked wonderingly. "You have a lady?"

The man laughed at this, and Marnie stared, surprised by the change in his face. "Lad, every castle has a lady," he said easily.

"Can we see her?" Lucas wanted to know, and the man stiffened, studying the boy curiously.

"You know, lad," he said quietly, "you might be just what her Ladyship needs."

He stood up from his crouched position by the boy and addressed Marnie. "The name is Thomas, missus, and I'm the steward of Castle Wynclyff. Would you come with me?"

Nodding hesitantly, Marnie allowed herself to be drawn into the castle by a bouncing Lucas. If this helped them find her brother, how could she complain?

* * *

"Lady Isabel, you have visitors."

Isabel stiffened under the covers, disbelief coursing through her veins. It was too early for another suitor, and she knew Alan wouldn't come back.

"Who is it?"

There was hidden smile in Matilda's words. "It is someone you need to see, milady."

Giving up, and not wanting to admit to her growing curiosity, Isabel rolled out of bed and allowed Matilda to dress her in a light gown of blue silk. Leading her mistress into the library, Matilda curtsied and withdrew, shutting the doors behind her.

Isabel found herself staring at a woman and a young boy. The woman was dressed in a common brown dress and seemed ill at ease, her gaze darting around the library and an expression on her face similar to awe. She was shorter than Isabel, with blue eyes and golden hair that made her seem younger than she was. She was clearly older than Isabel, and the lines around her eyes and mouth and her sun-bronzed skin showed the life she was used to.

The little boy…Isabel's breath caught as the child turned to look at her. Hardly older than Belle, the boy had green eyes that gazed at her frankly. At the sight of her, he grinned, and the smile was what made her heart ache and the pain roar to life. The smile he wore was the same one Alan used when playing with Belle and Liam. There was no doubt whose child this was.

Without even realizing what she was doing, Isabel knelt down and held her arms out to him. His smile faded, and he hesitated, even though she could tell he was longing to run to her arms to receive a hug. He glanced at the woman, who was staring at Isabel now with bold curiosity. The woman nodded shortly, her eyes on Isabel, waiting for the lady's reaction.

Then the boy was in her arms, and Isabel cradled his sandy head to her shoulder, closing her eyes against the tears that sprang to life as the pain she carried with her warred with the utter trust and love she felt emanating from the child. The boy pulled away, and she loosened her embrace. He did not move from her arms, and he gazed up at her with wide green eyes that were strangely sympathetic for one so young.

"It will be all right." He told her softly, confidently, giving her an angelic grin and patting her cheek. "We'll find Papa."

Isabel drew the boy close again, feeling the tears spill over at his simple words and innocent confidence. She composed herself and released him, letting him scramble off to explore the massive library. She rose to her feet and glanced at the woman that was still staring at her as if she had never seen anything like Isabel before.

"He is Alan's son." It was not a question; instead, it was an affirmation of the love she already felt for the boy that was currently staring in awe at a book with gilded pages and glowingly illustrated children's faery tales.

The woman nodded shortly, watching Isabel as if she didn't know whether to trust her or take the boy and flee. Isabel realized that her discomfort had yet to fade, and bade her to sit. The woman took her seat gingerly, but seemed more comfortable as she relaxed into the luxurious chair.

"What is your relation to the boy?" Isabel asked, feeling that the child was a safe topic to broach with this woman.

The woman glanced at her askance and then watched the young boy who was currently making towers out of the many books that littered the library floor.

"I am Marnie Tredan, Alan's sister. I came to find my brother." She answered shortly, her eyes still on the boy.

Isabel dropped her gaze to the carpet beneath her toes. Just the sound of Alan's name brought up too much pain. "Alan is not here." She said quietly, trying to keep the anguish out of her tone.

Marnie glanced at Isabel again and felt her expression soften. This lady was no noble that would hurt them or refuse to tell them where Alan was. This was a woman, whom, she suspected, was hurt just as much by Alan's absence, judging by the pain that was palpable in her green gaze.

"Your steward informed us." She said gently, not wishing to appear unkind.

Isabel shook her head and knotted her shaking hands in her lap. "I don't know where he is," she whispered brokenly, wishing she did not appear so vulnerable to the woman in front of her.

Marnie's lips thinned into a tight line, and she dared lean over to rest a comforting hand on the grieving woman's shoulder. "He'll come back." She told the lady, wishing she had more confidence to put in her tone.

Isabel looked up, the kindness of this total stranger healing some of the pain that she carried. "You are welcome to stay with me until he returns." She offered, glancing at the young boy across the room with the longing and love of a mother. Marnie drew a quick breath, surprised by the depths of the other woman's love for the boy, but judging by Lady Isabel's haggard appearance and the pain that covered her so completely, she had cared for Alan just as deeply, if not more.

Marnie smiled. "We would be delighted, Lady Isabel." She turned to the boy that was currently laughing to himself, toppling his carefully constructed book towers one by one. "Lucas," she called gently, and the boy stopped his demolition and came obediently to her side, his brow creasing in confusion.

Marnie took the boy's hands in her own and looked him in the eye. "Lucas, would you like to stay with Lady Isabel and me while we wait for your father to return?"

At the mention of his father, Lucas' green eyes lit up, and he beamed at both women watching him. "Papa's coming home?" He asked breathlessly, and when both Marnie and Lady Isabel nodded, he began to bounce up and down with excitement. "When?"

Both of faces turned towards him lost their smiles at his joy, and Marnie looked at him seriously again. "We don't know, pet." She said quietly, and Lucas stared back just as solemn.

"We should stay here," he announced solemnly, turning towards Isabel and executing a perfect little bow, which caused Isabel to smile again.

Marnie watched as Lady Isabel opened her arms and drew Lucas to her again. "I'd be delighted to have your company, laddie." She whispered, and Marnie stared with wide eyes, wondering how the lady knew Alan's nickname for the boy.

"Both of you." Isabel added, smiling at Marnie over the boy's tousled head. Marnie smiled back hesitantly, watching as some of the pain left Isabel's eyes as she held Lucas tightly.

* * *

"We have to let him go."

"No!"

"Kaay, I know he is your partner, but our mission is done! Let him go!"

"You cannot let him walk away from all he has!"

"His heart is not in it any more, woman!"

Lath and Kaay stared at each, both flushed from their fight and irritated with the other. For the last sun, they'd been fighting over Alan. Lath was ready to send Alan back to Wynclyff and let him return to Isabel, but Kaay was adamant about refusing to let Alan walk away from his career. The ensuing clash of opinions had led to several fights, always while Alan was out of earshot.

"Let him go." Lath growled, staring at Kaay. "Can't you see that he loves the woman he left behind?"

Kaay shook her head, ignoring the man's most crucial point. "Love has nothing to do with it. He has the King's Thieves to think of."

Lath's expression morphed into ones of sympathy. "Love has nothing to do it?" He repeated softly, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Kaay," he said gently, "I know how you feel about him, but you have to let him go."

Kaay huffed and turned her back on her captain, her braid whirling behind her as she tried to conceal how much Lath's words had touched a nerve.

Her back still turned, she hissed quietly, "If you feel so strongly about letting him return to that wanton, why were you so eager to take him from her?"

Silence behind her told Kaay that she had made a point. "I took him from Wynclyff because he had a mission to complete, and because I was angry at what I saw as a betrayal." Lath admitted slowly, each word weighed carefully before being spoken. "But he is not happy here, Kaay! Before he is a soldier under my command Alan is my friend, and I would rather be tortured than see him unhappy."

"Fine." She said coldly, tensing against the sympathetic gaze she could feel on her back. "Let him go. See what people speak of when we return to the capital and it is discovered you let one of your finest men run off and follow his heart."

"Let the gossips talk." Lath said stoutly. "I worry for Alan and his happiness."

Kaay snarled her frustration in a silent curse. She whipped back around, her gray eyes alight with desperation. "Don't you see?" She pleaded, hoping to sway Lath into understanding her logic. "He will be happy when we return to the capital. The king will reward him, he will see his family again, and he will forget about this mistress he once had." Her gaze hardened. "I will make sure of it."

Lath stared at her when she had finished, studying her, and for a moment, Kaay thought perhaps she had finally convinced him. Her hopes crumbled to dust when her captain shook his head, his face set.

"He returns to the lady he left." He said firmly. Kaay shook her head at the folly of this decision, and Lath added quietly, "Kaay, the woman is not his mistress. I suggested the same and almost lost my head for it." The woman in front of him stiffened, pain coursing through her gray eyes, but Lath shook his head. Female woes were not his problem. He turned his back on his best soldier and went to find Alan.

* * *

"Where are we going, Lady Isabel?" Lucas asked worriedly as they tramped through knee-high grass, golden in the light of the late spring sun.

Isabel smiled down at the small boy, his green eyes a darker shade than her own. "We're going to find you some play-friends, laddie." She told him, feeling happier than she had in suns. Alan's departure had scarred with her a wound only time or Alan himself could heal, but his young son was helping that process. He had taken to the lady of manor immediately, and although Marnie was warm to the lady but not overly friendly, Lucas could feel the pain the lady was in. He had made it his mission to try to get rid of her pain, and even though he was too young to do much, he did realize that when the lady did things for him, some of her pain seemed to disappear.

So he followed obediently as Lady Isabel led him into the woods. He would have been scared, but Lady Isabel showed no fear, so he tried not to show how nervous the dark trees made him.

Isabel took the boy's hand in hers and quickened in her pace. They were close, and she hadn't seen Belle and Liam in suns. She wanted to see them, and she had a very important question to ask them.

"Lady Bell!" Belle was the first to spot them as they emerged from the trees, and even as Lucas ducked behind her skirts, shy at the sight of this boisterous young girl, Isabel ran forward and gathered the girl up in her arms, laughing.

"Where's Liam?" She asked, glancing around as she cradled Belle in her arms. A splashing noise from the creek alerted all three to the boy's whereabouts, and Lucas startled as a red-headed boy younger than he climbed from the waters and shook himself dry.

He spotted Isabel and let out a joyous cry. "Lady Bell!" He quickly joined his sister in the circle of the lady's arms, and Isabel sank down on the grass, holding them both close and reveling in the love that surged from them, almost wiping out the pain that had been her constant companion these past suns.

Lucas watched with envy as these two children claimed Lady Isabel's attention, regaling her with stories of their days. He was getting up to go explore the creek when he heard the girl ask, "Lady Bell, where's Sir Alan?"

Intrigued by the girl's mention of his father, Lucas crept closer to the trio, wondering how they knew his father. He saw Lady Isabel's eyes flash with pain, and he wished he could give her a hug, but he didn't dare with those others there.

"He had to leave." She told them gently, her voice thick with hidden emotion.

"Why?" Liam wanted to know, his blue eyes misting over. "We wanted to play with him."

Lucas felt a flash of jealousy. They got to play with his father? He made to move away, to go sulk until he felt better, but Isabel spotted him and beckoned him over with a smile.

"This is Lucas." She told the two children in her lap, drawing Lucas against her side. "He's Sir Alan's son and my friend."

The two children regarded him with open curiosity, and Lucas blushed, hiding his face against Lady Isabel's shoulder. "He's going to be your play-friend." He heard Lady Isabel tell the two, and now it was his turn to regard them openly.

They stared back at him, and the girl gave him a shy smile, which Lucas hesitantly returned. Pleased by their acceptance of each other, Isabel cleared her throat, needing to ask a question of her own.

"Belle, Liam," she said quietly, drawing their twin adoring gazes, "would you like to come live with me in the castle?" Confusion replaced adoration, and Isabel felt the pain shoot through her heart again. She wouldn't have asked, but she fully intended on turning down every suitor that came to her gates from this sun on. She had decided that without any suitors to bother her, she could take the children to the castle and raise them as her own, as she had promised their parents she would.

Belle drew herself up and looked Isabel in the eye. "Lady Isabel," she asked, glancing at her brother, who gave a nod of encouragement before planting his thumb in his mouth, "if we come live in the castle, could you be our new mother?"

Isabel smiled down at the girl, feeling parts of her heart mending themselves at the love in the girl's eyes. "Yes," she whispered, her green eyes glowing, gathering them close. "I'll be your new mother. With all my heart."

Blinking back tears, she looked at Lucas, who had sat steadfastly at her side. "Well, Lucas?" She asked, smiling at him. "What do you say? Do you want Belle and Liam to come stay with us in the castle and be your play-friends?"

Lucas looked at the three of them, stared up at Isabel with a solemn gaze, and nodded. He stuck his hands out, and Belle and Liam, looking surprised, took them in their own. Lucas nodded again at Isabel, grinning.

"I want my friends to come stay with us." He told her, and Isabel gathered all three to her, feeling tears rush against her eyelids again. Her heart was slowly mending, but there was only one person that could make it truly whole.

Would he ever return?

* * *

Kaay stood on the dock, silently fuming. The Eastern Gate to the World stretched before them like a glittering carpet, its waves washing gently against the harbor as the sun made the blue-green water golden in the afternoon light.

Why was Lath doing this?

Lath clapped Alan on the shoulder and handed him the packs he had brought with him. "May the Old Ones bless your journey." He told the younger man. Alan nodded, his brown eyes glowing at the prospect of his journey. Ever since Lath had told him he was allowed to return to the kingdom and to Wynclyff, he had been more alive than before. Now he was shifting impatiently, ready to be on deck and back where he belonged.

Leaning down to whisper in his friend's ear, Lath advised, "Don't let her get away, lad."

Alan grinned at his captain, looking more like himself than he had in suns. "I won't." He murmured, hugging the older man briefly. "May the Old Ones bless you." He said quietly, knowing how much it was costing the older man to let him go.

Alan turned to the woman that was staring sullenly out over the waves. He swept her a low bow as she turned to look at him, a sad smile on her face.

"It's always an adventure with you, Kaay." He said teasingly, reaching out for her hand.

"It is." She agreed, ignoring his outstretched hand and sauntering up to him, her gray eyes gleaming. Before he had time to react, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her petite and lithe form pressing against his.

"Won't you stay with me?" She pleaded in a whisper, gazing up at him imploringly. Before Alan had time to react, to move away or doing anything, she pressed her lips against his.

Alan stiffened, his entire body rejecting what she was forcing on him. He heard Lath snort behind them, most likely covering up a laugh. He reached up and disengaged her arms from around his neck, backing away as he did so.

Kaay stared up at him, her gray eyes shining with tears, and Alan felt his heart drop. Why did the women he know always cry? He knew how Kaay felt about him, but he did not feel the same. He thought of Isabel and his heart twisted again.

"Kaay," he said gently, hoping to explain, but she waved him away.

"I understand." She said coldly, turning away to stare out over the waves. "Go and find your lady."

Alan opened his mouth and reached out to touch her shoulder, but Lath's hand on his arm stopped him. His captain gave him a warning look, and Alan knew that he should leave before he caused any more pain. Clapping Lath on the back one last time, he turned and walked down the dock, heading for his boat.

He was going home.

* * *

Isabel donned her nightgown and carried a single candle to her bedside. She crawled beneath the bed covers and tried to get comfortable. The problem with the night was that the pain returned as the sun went down. She had spent the sunlight hours distracting herself with settling the three children that were now in her care, but with the descent of the sun, the crushing thought that Alan was gone came back with the full force of a fresh wound.

Tired of the pain and tired of wondering if he would come back, Isabel called for her maid. Matilda appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, sleepy-eyed and tousled.

"Milady?" She asked, covering a yawn. "Do you need something?"

Isabel had slid out of bed and was now pacing her bedchamber, restless and tired of the constant ache in her breast. She was tired of looking at Lucas and only seeing Alan. She was tired of dreaming of him every night and wishing that he would come back.

She was ready to forget. It was late; everyone was asleep, and no one would notice if she was out of bed. No one would ever witness her doing the one thing that caused her such shame but healed her at the same time.

Isabel's chestnut curls tumbled around her face as she turned to her bewildered maid. "Matilda, fetch the dress and everything else that is needed." She commanded, her voice shaking with both courage and fear.

Her maid froze, eyes wide. "Milady?"

Isabel lowered her head, her green eyes shadowed with pain that she was ready to be rid of. "I need to forget Alan Rial."

* * *

Alan stumbled out of the small row boat, placing his feet once more on sands that he knew quite well. He ignored the faintest twinge of pain in his shoulder as he found his footing and swung his packs onto his back. He had caught one of the fastest ships out of the Eastern Continent, and the Old Ones must have blessed him, because they had made it in one night instead of the usual two. The captain of the ship swore it was because of the late spring storm pushing the right winds in their direction, but Alan thanked the Old Ones anyway.

He stared up at the castle that crowned the cliff. Once, it might have been imposing and cold, but now, he found it to be cozy and familiar. He spotted a warm glow in the upper window of the castle and his heart leapt.

Isabel! She must be waiting for him. She had to be.

Alan hastened his way towards the treacherous rocky path that was the only way up the cliff face, not even bothering to bid farewell to the crew that was currently staring at him as if he were mad. The small path may have been dangerous, but to Alan, everything was perfect. He was returning, and everything was so familiar that he felt the ache in his chest disappear. The last few painful suns spent on the Eastern Continent disappeared in a haze as he took in the moon, the stars, and the castle with the warm candlelight shining like a beacon, beckoning him on. Isabel was waiting for him.

Scrambling up the path and giddily slipping on some stones in his haste, Alan Rial made his way towards the woman he loved.

* * *

**A/N: So, that was a semi-cliffy! What'd you guys think? Reviews are always appreciated!**


	11. Chapter 10: Love's Scars

**A/N: I apologize from the depths of my soul at the lateness of this chapter. I have just returned from a family vacation, and in my stupidity, I had completely forgotten to take this story with me. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and yes, you do discover Isabel's secret in this chapter. Enjoy! **

**Warning: This chapter contains some self-mutilation. If you don't feel comfortable reading it, please skip it. **

* * *

Chapter 10: Love's Scars

Isabel smoothed the skirts of the scarlet dress, feeling the familiar fabric cling to her figure. It had been too long since she had last worn this dress. How long had it been? She had not donned it since Alan had come to stay, and her last suitor had left suns before Alan's arrival. Had it really been almost a turn of the moon since she had last felt these conflicting emotions in her chest?

Used to the feeling of wanting to rip the dress from her body in shame but also wanting to hold it close, Isabel turned to her maid, her face expressionless even as her heart beat wildly at the thought of what she was about to do. Matilda stared at her reproachfully as she cradled a gilded box, wooden inlays creating a swirling pattern.

"Your memory of him does not deserve this end, milady."

Isabel stared at her housekeeper and oldest friend in disbelief. Matilda was rarely so outspoken about the fate of her suitors' memories, preferring rather to let Isabel use the method she chose, although she did worry about her mistress after it was over.

"Matilda…" Isabel sighed and ran a hand over her face, feeling lines that had not been there before and brushing her hair out of her face. "I need this night to forget him."

Her maid nodded submissively, but the steely glint in her eye told Isabel she was less than happy with it. "As you wish it, milady."

Isabel eyed the heavy chair before the fire that had previously occupied a dark corner of her room. It was an ornate chair, almost a throne, wrought with silver and covered in blood-red velvet. Isabel ran a hand over the arm of the chair, a bitter smile curling her lips. Seating herself in the chair, she beckoned Matilda, relieving the scowling maid of her burden. She set the box on the small table in front of the chair and carefully lifted the lid, viewing the contents inside as if they were precious gems.

Matilda curtsied and withdrew, knowing it was her duty to guard the doors and keep anyone from entering. She may not like what her lady was doing, but she intended to give Isabel her privacy and keep the others from witnessing the lady's darkest secret.

* * *

Alan strode to the doors of the castle, passing the guards that were currently snoring at their posts. He gave them a grim smile and hurried on, eager to get inside. Jonathan would deal with them in the morning. Knocking softly on the door, he grinned outright when it swung open to reveal a sleepy and tousled Thomas, whose eyes widened at the sight of the man they had thought was gone.

"Y-your Lordship?" He gasped in disbelief, rubbing his eyes.

"I've come back." Alan told him triumphantly, grinning at the steward's shock.

Before he could move past Thomas and into the dark depths of the castle, Thomas had him by the throat and Alan found himself pinned against the heavy door.

"You thought you could up and be gone without biding our mistress good-bye?" Thomas hissed into the soldier's face, and Alan stared at him, surprised by the anger and unable to defend himself.

Thomas pressed harder, his eyes gleaming with protective anger. "You thought you could leave our lady to her pain as you moved on to your new mistress?"

At the insinuation that he had left Isabel for another woman, Alan found his voice. "The Old Ones take it, Thomas!" He snapped back. "I never wanted to leave Isabel!"

Thomas refused to back down, and he increased the pressure of his arm against Alan's chest, forcing the air from his lungs. "How do I know you haven't come crawling back to take her to your bed again?"

Alan snarled a curse, annoyed and impressed by this man's need to protect his lady's virtue. "Thomas," he ground out, "I never took Isabel's honor. I came back to tell her I love her." He cast a despairing look into the depths of the castle and looked back at the livid steward. "You have to believe me." He pleaded, hoping Thomas would the sincerity in his words.

To his intense relief, Thomas let him slide to the ground, but did not release his hold on Alan's throat. "If you hurt her…" He let the threat go unvoiced, for Alan gripped his hand and forced it away from his throat.

"To hurt her I would have to cut out my own heart first." He swore to the steward, and the other man clearly saw the sincerity in his level gaze, for he conceded and bowed to the soldier.

"We are glad to have you again, Your Lordship." He told Alan. Alan grinned and moved quickly past the steward into the castle, but Thomas' next words stopped him in his tracks.

"You won't be able to see Lady Isabel tonight."

Alan pivoted around to face the steward, glaring. "Why won't I?" He growled, advancing on the solemn steward.

Thomas stared at the man in front of him pityingly, wishing with all his heart that Alan had come a few suns earlier. He sighed and told the other man, defeated. "It is the night of her cleansing ritual. She has locked herself in her rooms, and none are admitted until the ritual is complete."

Alan was deathly still, and his face was as white as the moonlight painting the stones of the courtyard. "Cleansing ritual?"

Thomas nodded. His lady's final secret was not one he gave away lightly, but if anyone could stop her, this man could. He did not wish to see Lady Isabel in such pain.

"She cleanses herself of a suitor's memory." He murmured, and he watched as Alan's eyes flashed with pain and desperation, grasping to the steward's implications.

"Isabel is going to rid herself of my memory." It wasn't a question, and as Thomas nodded, Alan whirled around and ran into the darkness of the castle, searching for the light that had called him from the beach. The pain that had momentarily ceased at the joy of being reunited with Isabel returned with full force, and he moved towards Isabel's rooms, the pounding of his heartbeat telling him that he was terrified that he wouldn't make it.

* * *

Isabel surveyed the three blades that rested in their velvet beds with the utmost scrutiny. These were no common daggers; these were knives with the sharpest blades, their silver glinting in the firelight, inviting her to use them in her dark work. Their gold and gem-inlaid handles sparkled at her, each one a beautiful, deadly weapon that would release her from her pain.

She picked up the smallest, hating herself for what she was about to do. She did not want to be rid of Alan's memory completely, but she loved him, and she had to erase that love from her soul. He was not coming back, and she knew there would be other suitors. There was only one turn of the moon left, and she must find a husband in that time. She would find it easier to select a suitor if her mind and heart weren't clouded with the memory of another man.

Isabel picked up the largest knife, wondering if it would be the right instrument to use. It would certainly do the job of releasing her pain the fastest, but she was afraid that it would release all of her pain. Her pain and her wariness were the two things that had gotten her through the last ten years, outlasting all the suitors that had come. The pain and betrayal of lost loves had taught her to be careful around men, and to remember that when they proclaimed their love, they didn't always mean it.

She replaced the largest knife and reached for the middle one, deciding that it would be the one she used. It wouldn't dull Alan's memory completely, nor would it drain her of the recent pain or the wariness that she had learned over the years.

Isabel stared at the knife and watched the flames flicker in the reflection of its silver blade, tempting her. She let a bitter smile cross her face, hating the pain and needing to release it somehow. Yes, this blade would serve her purposes well.

* * *

When Alan stumbled into a warm form, he thought for a fleeting moment that it was Isabel. When the figure mumbled a familiar curse, Alan peered into the gloom, wondering if it was possible.

"Marnie?"

The woman gasped, and then Alan was holding his sister in his arms, feeling her form shake with silent sobs. Alan felt his own throat constrict, and he tightened his hold on her, his heart thumping painfully.

"I missed you, Marn." He whispered, and at the childhood nickname, his sister sobbed, clutching at him as if she could not bear to let go.

"I thought you were dead." She whispered into his shirt, her tears staining it and her voice shaking with relief and sobs.

"I promised I would return, didn't I?" He murmured lightly, stroking her hair and loosening his hug. He could feel her blue eyes staring at him in the darkness, and he knew that they were shining with unshed tears.

"We had hoped," she whispered, "your son more than any of us."

Alan stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. "Lucas is here?" He asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

He could feel Marnie nod, still staring up at him. "He insisted that we come find you when you didn't return."

Alan felt tears crowd his eyes at the guilt that pricked him. His son had to come find him because he had failed his promise to Lucas. "I should have been there when I promised." He murmured, hanging his head.

Marnie touched his cheek gently, shaking her head. "The boy knew where you were, Alan, and Isabel explained why you were detained from your mission. Your son does not begrudge you anything, the Old Ones bless his young heart for it."

Alan nodded, but he knew he had to apologize to his son in the morning. Then he remembered his original mission and disentangled himself from his sister. "I have to go see Isabel, Marnie." He told her.

This time, he didn't have to see her smirk. He knew. "I knew you two had feelings for each other." She said smugly, and Alan nodded, focusing on the long hallway behind her. At the end, a warm glow shone from behind a closed door, and Alan knew he was running out of time.

He dropped a kiss to his sister's forehead. "Don't tell Lucas I'm here." He warned her. "I want to surprise him."

Marnie sighed in defeat. "Fine," she conceded, stepping aside to allow her brother access to the corridor. Alan nodded to her, bid her good night, and hurried down the hallway. The light was calling to him.

* * *

Isabel examined her arms, wondering where the best place would be. The knife gleamed in the firelight, and she curled her fingers tighter around the handle, bringing the blade to her skin. At the first sear of pain, Isabel gasped, watching as the blade sunk into the skin of her forearm, revealing the hot flash of red blood that trickled down her arm. Isabel sighed as some of the pain rushed out of her, and she pressed deeper, intent on flushing out the pain in the only way she knew. The doors of her bedchamber rattled, and she pulled the blade from her skin, frowning in annoyance.

The blood from the knife dripped from the edge of the blade onto her dress, but Isabel ignored the drops that splashed onto the scarlet fabric. The reason she had chosen the blood-red fabric was so the blood would not show against the dress. She was ready to draw the blade against her skin again, ready to be rid of all the pain she felt at Alan's disappearance, but the rattling of the oak doors startled her again. Putting the knife down, she glared at that doors. Matilda knew not to let anyone in. Who would dare disturb her?

* * *

Alan stared at Matilda. "I know Isabel isn't allowing anyone in her rooms." He said impatiently, "But I need to speak to her. I've come all the way from the Eastern Continent."

The maid looked truly remorseful. "I'm sorry, Your Lordship. I'm under orders to barricade these doors." Matilda wished she could let Alan in. If anyone could take away Isabel's pain, it was this man. But she knew Isabel would have her head if she let him in.

Alan's gaze grew hard and desperate. He reached around Matilda and twisted the handle, causing the large doors rattle. Matilda blocked his entrance to the rooms, and Alan growled a curse, desperate to get to Isabel. He knew she was in pain, but he couldn't let her erase his memory.

"The Old Ones take it!" He growled, staring at Matilda, who bravely stood barricading his way, obeying her mistress' orders. "Matilda," he whispered, his heart thumping painfully at the thought of never seeing Isabel again. "I have to see her. _I love her_." Those words, spoken so many times but never to Isabel herself, seemed to sway the maid. Her expression softened, and she nodded, understanding crossing her face.

"Go." She said, standing aside. Alan stared at her and then the doors, not believing it had been so easy. He had been so sure he needed to use force. Matilda saw his confusion and elaborated. "You are the first suitor to say those words with true sincerity," she told him. "You are the only one able to stop her pain. Go!"

Alan needed no more urging. He pushed the doors open and strode into the room, his gaze sweeping the room, every muscle tensed and ready to some horrifying sight, his heart beating painfully against his ribs at the idea of Isabel harmed.

Isabel.

He caught sight of her across the room and felt his heart speed up its already ragged rhythm. She looked as regal and haughty as a queen, glaring at him from a silver chair that had the appearance of a throne and covered in red velvet. She herself was draped in blood-red silk, and her chestnut curls tumbled around her face. In the red dress, her skin took on a creamy cast, and her green eyes shone. Alan felt his breath hitch in his chest, and he had to remember to keep breathing. She was beautiful.

"Isabel…" He breathed, feeling the blood rush from his face at the sight of a scarlet ribbon making its way down her arm. In two strides, he was across the room and on his knees at her feet, peering up into her face.

"Isabel." He murmured her name again, and she turned her eyes to his. Alan felt his heart drop to his feet as he saw her gaze was as expressionless as when they had first met. He reached up and stroked her cheek, but her blank features never wavered. He dropped his gaze to the dress she wore and gasped.

The dress hugged her every curve, and while Alan normally would have enjoyed the sight, he was entranced by the fact that the dress had no sleeves. After so many suns of seeing Isabel in nothing but long sleeves, seeing the bare skin of her arms was a shock. Her arms were a paler shade of cream than her face and neck, but as Alan looked again, he drew in a horrified intake of breath. Her arms held her last and final secret, a deadly one indeed.

Scars.

Over a hundred of them littered her arms and shoulders. Some were the small nicks of a quick blade, others stretched on. They crisscrossed her upper arms and lower arms, circling around to cover her underarms, leaving snow-white marks on pale skin. All were deep enough to leave scars, and Alan stared, his heart hammering as he tried to absorb what he was seeing.

"Why?" It was all his beleaguered brain could come up with, and he stared up at Isabel beseechingly. "What have you done to yourself?"

Isabel turned her empty green eyes away from his horrified brown ones and stroked one of the longer scars on her shoulder. "They are reminders of every suitor I have ever had. They take away my pain."

"No." Alan shook his head, unwilling to believe. "This is no way to release your pain."

But Isabel only nodded, her eyes taking on an eerily calm cast. "These scars remind me of every failed suit, of every man who had earned my affections and cast it aside."

"Oh, Isabel." Alan's voice cracked as he heard the lonely pain her voice, a searing pain that was echoed inside his own chest. "They are not worth your affections. You should not suffer because of them."

Isabel shook her head, gazing at him as if not seeing him. "They all leave me. Even you," she said harshly, nodding to the trickle of blood that was seeping from her arm.

Alan stared at her and then at the blood that ran down her arm, hating the sight of that red stream. She should not have felt the need to erase his memory and rid herself of the pain.

"Isabel." He dropped his head, his heart dropping to his feet but still beating painfully. "Your pain should not have been because of me."

Isabel stared at him blankly and then picked up the knife she had put down, a bitter smile twisting her lips into a terrifying mask. "I have to erase your memory." She whispered, raising the blade to the cut on her arm.

"_No_." Alan's curt command startled her, and she blinked, some warmth seeming to come back to her cold green eyes. Taking advantage of her confusion, Alan pried her fingers from the handle of the knife, taking it in his hand. He stared in disgust at the blood dripping from the blade before flinging it behind him. He heard it clatter to the floor, but he didn't care. All his attention was on the woman in front of him.

Isabel blinked and seemed to come out of her stupor. She stared down at the man in front of her, and recognition filled her gaze. "Alan?" She whispered hoarsely, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You left me."

Alan stood, pulling a little-used chair next to her ornate one. "No." He promised fervently, reaching out to push some of her curls away from her face, letting his fingers brush against the tender skin of her temple for a moment. "I could never leave you. I came back for you."

Isabel felt her heart beating painfully at his close proximity, but the joy at his return eclipsed that. "Why did you leave me?" She whispered, reaching out to hesitantly touch his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble against her fingertips.

Alan closed his eyes at her gentle touch, feeling his heart thump with longing. "I didn't want to." He told her, opening his eyes to stare at her, knowing he owed her the truth. He loved her, and nothing but the truth would do. "Before I came to you, I had a mission. A mission that…" he swallowed hard but continued on. "A mission that almost destroyed our kingdom. If I had not left, we would be at war."

Isabel stared at him, eyes wide. "Who are you?" She whispered. "I know you are not my father's man, but you cannot be a mere soldier to be trusted with such an assignment."

Alan smiled wryly and bowed to her from a sitting position. "I am Sir Alan Rial, King's Thief and Kingdom Guardsman."

Isabel stared him, her green eyes darkening with sorrow. "That is why you left me," she said sadly. "You had to go."

Alan nodded, reaching out to cradle her cheek in his hand. "I would have given anything to stay," he confessed, "but my captain came to find me four suns ago, in the dead of night. I had to obey his orders. I wanted to come find you, to tell you everything, but he insisted that I depart immediately."

"You never wanted to leave?" Isabel's voice was cautiously hopeful, as if she didn't dare to believe what he was telling her. She turned her head, pressing her lips against Alan's palm, and she relished the feel of Alan's skin against her own.

Alan gaze was dark with an emotion she had never seen before. "I swear to the Old Ones," he said hoarsely, "I never wished to leave you. I love you." The words were out before he could stop them, and Isabel stared at him, wide-eyed. His heart thumped painfully, and as the silence stretched on he almost wished he could take them back.

Then an electrifying heat flooded Isabel's eyes, and he felt her come alive under his palm. She gazed at him, her heart beating against her ribs in a ragged rhythm. All the pain she had carried with her over the past four suns dissipated, and she gasped at the warmth that encompassed her entire body. Alan watched her warily, his eyes growing darker by the second.

"I love you." Isabel spoke the words softly, hesitantly, as if tasting each word as it fell from her lips. She looked up at Alan, her eyes finally clearing of all pain. "I love you."

Alan's eyes darkened to a lustful gaze, but instead of feeling dread—as she would if any other man had looked at her with such an expression—Isabel felt a shiver run through her body. All her pain, all her doubts, all her fears had disappeared. Alan was here, and he loved her. There was no need for any more pain.

Alan clearly felt the same, for he gently grasped her arm in his hands. Lifting her arm to his lips, he cleared it of the blood that had marred the perfection of her creamy skin. Flipping her arm over, he let his lips drift over the smooth skin of her underarm, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist where her pulse beat frantically.

"You should never feel any more pain on my account." He murmured, and at his words, Isabel shivered. The feel of his lips on her skin awakened her body in ways she hadn't felt since the night he had kissed her in her sister's house. Her shallow wound had stopped aching, and she felt herself leaning towards him, longing for his touch.

Isabel had never felt this way about any man, and as heat rushed through her veins, she was surprised at how insistent the need for his touch was.

"Alan…" She murmured, stroking his cheek and delighting in the way his eyes closed at the simple touch. He leaned into her caress, and when his brown eyes flickered open again, they were darker than ever, almost black with desire. Isabel shivered at the pure want and need in his gaze, but it did not frighten her. She was done resisting men. For the first time in ten years, she felt her body responding to the desire in his eyes, and when he leaned forward, his intent clear, she did not feel her body freeze and begin to resist. Instead, she found herself leaning forward eagerly, twisting sideways and pressing against the arm of the chair.

"Alan…" she breathed his name once more, and then his lips were on hers in a searing kiss that banished every fear.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, reunited at last! Don't worry, this story isn't over yet; I still have some loose ends to tie up. Reviews are greatly appreciated! **


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